When Trees Grow On Stones
by OnyxIdol
Summary: A young Imperial Guard recruit finds himself the prisoner of an ancient renegade who seeks to tell his story and, ultimately, an apprentice. COMPLETE
1. Inaugural

I

Aeren woke from a restless sleep and dark dreams he couldn't remember. For a moment he just lay there in the gloom, not knowing who or where he was, shrouded in dull tranquility. Then the memories hit him like a truck: The doom that had befallen hive Macharius, corpses piling in the streets, killed by something unseen, something in the air.

And mostly, like a grisly keystone to all the horrors, the monstrous Astartes, who, for some reason, had attacked the local Guard, butchering survivors left and right without a second thought. The one _he_ had fought, or tried to fight. The giant warrior had seen right through the traps he had laid, had darted around his mines with a grace belying his ridiculous bulk and a speed that should've been impossible for something so big.

Aeren had fired at him, but his lasgun proved no match for the assailant's armor. Then the warrior had been upon him and, closing one of his massive gauntlets around the barrel, had crushed his weapon in a single, mockingly slow motion. The same fist had then shot forward, grabbing Aeren by the head and lifting him up. Stupefied, and seeing his final moments upon him, he had fumbled for the knife at his side, and had stabbed the arm that held him. Again, his attack had proven ineffective, all his rage and fear availing him not. Oblivion had taken him after that.

And now he was here, Emperor knew where, left alive for some doubtlessly hideous reason. Adrenaline flooded through him then, and he jolted upright, looking around. He found himself in a cell built of gray metal, bare except for the rivets holding everything together and a small grate on the floor in one corner. Dim light came from his left, were an array of thick metal bars formed the entrance to his predicament, and beyond it, the outline of a massive figure.

Aeren stood up, and, heart hammering in his chest, moved slowly towards the bars. When he got close, his breath caught in his throat. On the other side he saw the ugliest man he had ever seen. He was a giant; even hunched down on his little bench, he was taller than Aeren by more than a head. He was clad in a plain leather tunic that left his forearms and lower legs uncovered.

His skin, that seemed to consist solely of gray and red scar tissue, stretched over bulging muscles. Worst of all was the face. Gaunt it was, skin clinging loosely to the bald, brutish skull. It was dominated by a huge nose, that had been broken untold times and had grown back together at odd, zigzaggy angles. The jaw was dented on the left side, and the right corner of the mouth drooped down limply as if in some sort of paralysis.

As with the rest of the body, scars covered every square centimeter, and most prominent of all, a massive one in the rough shape of an eight pointed star, carved with little skill and even less care. It centered high on the left side of the forehead, and the southernmost beam reached down almost to the eye. The eyes themselves, watching Aeren from under heavy lids, were almost invisible. Set deep under the massive brow, they were gray, and no light or life was in them. It looked old, this face, terribly terribly old. The giant's features betrayed no emotion, unless the lopsided mouth was a to be a sign of disdain. Aeren was torn between fascination and revulsion.

After a moment, the giant spoke. "What do you see, boy?" His voice sounded like two stone plates grinding on each other, a voice telling of hardship and ruin. Aeren didn't answer. He was overwhelmed by the man's presence, and frankly, frozen stiff under his indifferent lifeless gaze. After a while, the giant spoke again. "What... do you see, boy?" Aeren swallowed. "Muscles and scars." The ugly man showed no reaction. After a moment, he shifted on his seat.

"And what do you think I am?" The boy tried to collect his racing thoughts, and then, in a corner of his mind filled with zeal and holy anger, he found his answer. "A traitor." And, after another moment: "A heretic. A mutant. A murderer." He took a deep breath. "A bastard. An Emperor-damned whoreson to deserves death, or rather, to be tortured until he begs for forgiveness and _then_ be killed in the most painful way possible." He was breathing heavily now, and tears were streaming down his face. He was sure he'd die then and there, but in this moment, he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.

But the giant only sat there, quiet as a stone. It seemed like minutes before he answered. "A traitor I am, in more than one way. A heretic I have been called before, but it is just a different word with the same meaning. A mutant I am not, and if you care at all about keeping your life, you will not call me such again. A murderer I am, but that goes for every warrior, including your comrades in the guard. In fact, you tried very hard to become one yourself, did you not?"

Before Aeren could answer, the man continued. "As for the rest: You feel the need to express your anger. Do it, but do it quickly. My patience is not without limits." A few seconds passed. "What is your name?" Aeren didn't answer and made a defiant face instead. The ugly man pushed a tray with food through the bars. "Eat something and rest. And when I return we will talk." With that, the giant stood up and walked away, leaving Aeren to his misery.


	2. Expectations

II

When Aeren woke for the next time, he found himself drained of strength. On all fours he crawled over to where the tray of food was still waiting for him. On it was a helping of gray mush, accompanied by a tin mug filled with what appeared to be water. Cutlery was pointedly absent. After trying the gray stuff cautiously, he found it inoffensive enough, and, his hunger stirred, wolfed down the meager dish.

The water tasted stale and had a metallic taste to it, but it quenched his thirst a little. Having finished his meal, he set to thinking, but his thoughts were all over the place; too strong were the recent impressions. In his despair, he offered a short prayer to the Master of Mankind: "Venerated Emperor, uhm, this is Aeren Mallory. I know you are terribly busy guarding all of your realm, but I'm really in a fu-... fix right now and could use your help to escape this heretic that has captured me. That would be really great. Thanks."

Escape. That was it. _The first duty of a captured soldier_ , his drill instructor had once said. He'd need a weapon. He turned his attention back to the tray and the cup. Both were made of thin sheet-metal that he'd be easily able to deform. He took the cup and flattened it, turning it into a somewhat sturdier flat piece. With considerably more effort he bent it, right side over left side, in a forty-five degree angle. He inspected his work. Of course no edge whatsoever, and not much of a point to speak of. Still enough to inflict some pain in the right places. Somewhat content for the moment, his slipped his weapon under his belt on the back and waited.

He had slid in and out of sleep, sometimes violently waking from nightmares, when his captor returned. Aeren watched him take his place on the low bench through half closed eyes. "I know you're awake boy." Aeren turned to him. "What do you want from me?" - "I want to talk to you."  
"If you want to talk to me, get me out of this cell."  
"No."  
"Fine. Go to hell then." With that, Aeren turned away. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, he heard the work of an engine and the snapping of a lock. Looking, he found some of the bars retracted, making way. In the doorway stood the giant. Aeren rose. Both of them on their feet, the Astartes towered over him even more, and the boy found his head barely reaching his enemy's hip.

For a moment he hesitated, once more intimidated by so mighty a foe. Again, his drill instructor came to mind. _When there's an enemy in front of you, the only way is forward._ So, he fixated his eyes on those of the brute and stepped closer. Still, the giant's face betrayed nothing of what was going on behind it. Aeren held his gaze, empowered by anger and defiance. In his mind, he saw the attack he was planning. He'd go for the crotch, the only sensitive area he'd be able to reach. That would, hopefully bring his adversary down, allowing him to go for the eyes next.

A final step, and he stood before his enemy, and his hand found his makeshift weapon. "What do you want to talk about?" His hand darted upward in an arc, but either the marine had expected an attack or just had ridiculously fast reflexes. Perhaps both. Either way, he quickly moved his left leg back and out of harm's way, while bending the right: thus lowering himself enough to catch Aeren's wrist in his enormous, unshapely fist. The boy looked up again. The ugly head turned left, giving the metal in Aeren's hand a cursory glance. Then the dull gray eyes found the boy's again, and the giant gave a slight nod. "Resourcefulness. Determination. This is why I spared you." Aeren didn't know what to say. "Failure, however, begets pain." And with that, he brutally yanked the boy's arm away. Aeren heard a vicious popping sound, and a searing pain set his right side aflame. He screamed.


	3. Names and Lessons

III

The next hours were a pain-filled haze. Eventually, a man Aeren didn't know came and set his shoulder, which alleviated the pain. A little. Aeren, still only half conscious, didn't even thank the stranger he could only see vaguely through a veil of tears. He was given something "for the pain" and found himself alone again after that. Eventually the pain did subside to a dull throb. Aeren fell asleep.

When he woke, he found another tray of food, which he again consumed hastily. After that, he relieved himself over the grate in the corner. And then, he sat, back to the wall, mind and senses pleasantly dulled by the painkiller. Again, he thought of his home, hive Macharius and what he had experienced there. He wondered if any people had survived the attack, and whether any of his comrades might be among them. He thought about his mother too. More bitter memories, if the drug hadn't taken away his ability to feel anything. Eventually he drifted to sleep.

In this place, no indication of the passage of time was to be had. There was no window and the dim light outside his cell never changed. He was given food twice more, by yet another unknown man, pale, his head shaved, eyes cast down. Aeren tried to talk to him, but was ignored completely. When the painkiller lost it's effect, the throb returned to his shoulder, arm and torso, although much less horrible than before. Cautiously he flexed his hand and raised his elbow a little, but his body disabused him of that. Wincing, he gently placed his arm by his side again.

When he started to think he would go insane from staring at the walls the giant returned, tossing something into the cell. Aeren gave him a glance and directed his attention to the object afterward. It was a big, somewhat rusty knife. Aeren picked it up and carefully tested the edge with his thumb. Crap. With his face contorted by loathing he addressed his tormentor.

"What's that for?" - "For the test you passed."  
"You said I failed."  
"You failed to attack me, but that wasn't the test. It was whether you'd make the _decision_ to do it."  
"And you give me the shittiest knife you could find."  
"An imperfect weapon for an imperfect warrior." Aeren grunted.

After that exchange, the giant opened the door and had the boy attack him again, and Aeren was all too happy to oblige. He screamed, hacking and slashing but somehow only always cutting air.

"What is your name?" The giant asked, not in the slightest fazed by their grotesque spar. Aeren just grimaced. "What's yours?" - "Errake." That made the boy pause, which in turn earned him the back of the giant's hand, sending him sprawling with a buzzing head. When he could see clearly again, he stumbled to his feet.

"Fuck you. What kind of fucking name is that anyway?" He lunged at his opponent again, who, again, dodged effortlessly. "Some call me Stoneheart." - "Yeah well I'll just call you a huge bastard." A blink of an eye later, Aeren found one of Errake's boulder-like fists digging into his guts. He collapsed, bereft of air, retching and fighting for breath. "Don't forget your place, boy." droned Errake's ruinous voice down to him.

"Sometimes, humility is in order to survive. That is your next test, and it'll last the rest of your life. Now, what is your name?"  
"Aeren." croaked the boy, "Aeren Mallory."  
"How old are you?"  
"I'm thirteen." Aeren felt his eyes well up. This wasn't fair. None of it was.  
"Get up." The boy rose, full of misery, arms wrapped around himself. "What do you want from me?"  
"I told you, I want to talk to you. And I will teach you some things. Controlling your pathetic emotions is on the top of my list." He let that sink in for a moment. "Now, attack me again."

* * *

When he considered it enough, Errake left the boy in his cell, utterly exhausted and sore all over. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, and the chime of some little bells announced the presence of one of his lieutenants.

"Endymion."

The addressed stepped out of the shadows. The two couldn't have been more different. Where Errake was old, Endymion appeared young. Where the lord was gray stone, The servant was shining bronze. He might have passed for a man of forty, were it not for his Astartes' physique. His features were chiseled into sublime symmetry, and covered by softly tanned skin. He, too, was covered in scars, but most of his weren't attached to war memories. Carved with great skill by delicate hands, they formed an intricate web of pictures, a living artwork, curling around him from head to toe.

His eyes were _golden_ , and completing his appearance was a stream of silky black hair, falling halfway down his back. He was, by all standards, a beautiful being. "How did it go with him?" His voice was a purring tenor rolling from his tongue like honey. "As yet, he is but a mewling pup. It'll take time." The two of them started walking down the corridor.

"You let him keep the knife?"  
"Yes, what of it?"  
"He might kill himself, you know."  
"He might, but I don't think he will. For now, his rage keeps him alive. And I think there's steel to be found in him."  
"So you _are_ going to elevate him?"  
"Yes. I'll have Sabato begin the initial treatments on him in a few weeks. If he survives that long."

For a moment they walked in silence, then Endymion spoke again. "We've had word. Apparently the Warmaster was pleased with the operation on Ocallus." - "Signs and portents. I didn't think Abaddon had it in him to be pleased. Either way, his geniality will only last so long. We're gone the moment his attention slips."  
"You think that's wise? He _is_ the Warmaster." Errake stopped and put a hand on his lieutenant's shoulder, making him turn.

"He can crown himself emperor for all I care. I haven't had any master but myself since Terra, and I'm too old to bend the knee before that fool." A slight smirk played around Endymion's lips.

"And yet, you _did_ kneel before him only three months ago." Errake gave him a glare. After a moment he continued his way, his lieutenant following him.


	4. Roots

IV

Aeren trained. When he had learned he was on a ship, the _Deimos_ , already light years away from Ocallus, he had begrudgingly buried his intention to escape. And besides, even if he _could_ escape, where would he go?. His home world now belonged to this faction Errake referred to as "Chaos", and according to him, everyone Aeren had known was now either dead or a servant to them, unwillingly or willingly. He didn't know what to make of this group, only that they were enemies of the Imperium and somehow had Astartes in their ranks. How such a heresy could exist under the ever watchful eyes of the God-Emperor was beyond him. Surely their small group could be no match for the true Astartes and the might of the Imperial Guard, which had billions of soldiers to call upon?(Aeren wasn't exactly sure how much a billion was, but it sure sounded impressive.) He had boasted as much to his captor, but Errake had remained frustratingly unimpressed. Aeren started to wonder if the brute was stupid somehow. He never displayed any emotion, and tended to talk slower than others, which annoyed the boy a great deal.

The boy didn't know how many people there were on the ship; he had seen some while Errake had shown him parts of the _Deimos_. Most seemed to be slaves, going about their business with low voices and their eyes fixed firmly on the floor. But some seemed to serve Errake willingly, meeting him with what appeared to be genuine respect. He had met only two other Astartes: Endymion, who looked just as freakish as Errake, although in a way completely opposite to his lord. His temper was totally different as well, jovial and charming. Then there was Sabato, who was a medic of sorts, and who looked refreshingly normal – for an Astartes, that is. That one had done some weird examinations on him, all the while completely ignoring his bruises and grazes. When he attested Aeren "no terminal mutations", the boy snapped at him. "Of course not!" The apothecary didn't care.

Aeren found his situation to be highly confusing. On one hand, he was obviously a prisoner, and wasn't treated all that well, especially of course by Errake. On the other hand, he seemed to have a different status than the slaves he had seen. And although it was hard to admit, these people were a far cry from the pictures the Ecclesiarchy usually painted of apostates. For one, there seemed to be not eating of little children as far as he could tell, and there generally seemed to be a fairly decent standard of hygiene.

The worst that was done to him was the training. And sure, Errake cuffed him around a lot during their bouts, but that was hardly worse than what he had seen and experienced in his Guard training – or in the orphanage, for that matter. So, for the time being, he decided to play it cool – not that he had much of a choice. And since he had nothing better to do, he committed to the tasks Errake set for him.

As one of the first, he was sent deep into the bowels of the ship to hunt vermin for a week. He could take neither food nor water, only the stupid rusty knife and a weak little lamp. Errake told him of the giant creeps he would find, and to bring him fifty of their poisonous glands as proof.

That week Aeren spent most of the time in the dim gloom of his lamp, or complete darkness when he wanted to save energy. Soon, his senses became sharper; He heard the many strange noises emitted by the machines that worked in the deep to give the ship it's life. He also learned the signs of the creeps, blind insects, some as big as dogs. He followed them into crawlspaces, scurrying through pipes, to wait for them at openings and stab them behind the head to kill and eat them. Once he got himself bitten, and his leg burned terribly and became swollen and green, reducing his mobility and agility greatly for some time.

The squishy innards of the insects, consumed raw for lack of fire, proved surprisingly tasty, and gave nourishment and liquid. More water he found condensed on cold walls or fuel lines. To rest, he retreated to places he learned the creeps wouldn't go. Sitting in the darkness and listening to the low noises of the ship, he sometimes felt watched, and more, unknown presences around him. But when he turned on his light, there was nothing.

Still having no way of keeping time, he occasionally went back to the bulkhead where he had begun his journey, only to find it locked tightly. On two occasions, sure that the week must have had passed, he hammered against the metal and called, but no answer came. He began to think that he had been forgotten, doomed to roam the darkness until the end of his days like a cursed spirit.

When he found the door open eventually, bright light beyond, he cried, both because his eyes had become accustomed to darkness and out of sheer relief. Hell, he was even happy to see Errake's ugly face when he was brought before the old Marine, still limping. When the lord saw his state and excitement, he shook his head. "Still incomplete." Aeren looked aghast, devastated, but Errake continued. "However, you've proven yourself worthy of continuing your training, and your life for that matter. And it is high time you learned some things your old teachers haven't told you."


	5. More than a Man

_AN: Kudos to the guys over at the_ Lexicanum _for collecting all that info._

 _Edit: I published this chapter somewhat prematurely, there were some odd formulations and things that didn't work and that had to be changed. I'll let this be a lesson._

* * *

V

After his trial in the ship's underbelly, Aeren wasn't sent back to his cell. He was given a room to himself, large, with a high ceiling, empty but for a hard cot. A second door opened into a small bath, that even had a shower stall. It felt like pure luxury to him at this point. He wasn't surprised though when he realized there was no warm water to be had. Back in the orphanage, it had been a rare and joyous occasion when they turned the valve and the water would come out steaming. Hell, they hadn't even had power half the time. That had changed when he joined the Guard. He remembered taking long, hot showers until his skin had been all red and the tips of his fingers wrinkly. He sighed at the memory, and was startled a little when he caught his face in the frameless mirror. It had become thin and pale, and deep shadows were under his eyes. _Still, not as bad as him_ he thought and had to laugh. It sounded tinny in the small chamber.

* * *

"It began with the great crusade. You know of _that_ at least, don't you?" Aeren nodded. They were sitting on the floor, cross-legged, facing each other. A few meters behind Errake stood a huge gong, and a lean old man was sitting there, striking it every fifteen seconds or so. The old man also had a few small metal bowls he tapped softly, making them sing as well. A small brazier stood before him, and occasionally, he would drop incense onto it.

"Yes." answered the boy. He felt oddly relaxed. The vibrations and sounds that filled the air, in combination with the heavy smell of the incense, created a strange, otherworldly atmosphere. He felt as if his heart was beating slower, synching with the old man's strikes. At the same time, his mind was sharp and focused. "It was when the God-Emperor set out with his sons the Primarchs to bring all the worlds of mankind into his fold."

"True. That was the beginning of the Imperium. Back in those days, there were eighteen legions of Astartes, each headed by one of the primarchs and created in his image. I belonged to the sixteenth. My primarch was Horus, and he had joined the emperor from our home world, Cthonia. I was recruited shortly after the conquest of Luna, which was the emperor's first stepping-stone on his way into the galaxy. Luna had much of the technology needed to create Astartes, and it _was_ technology, not witchcraft, that brought us into existence. So there the ranks of the _Luna Wolfs_ , as the legion had been named, were initially bolstered. And it was there that I first saw the emperor."

Aeren's eyes became wide with wonder. "You've met the Emperor?" - "I didn't meet him. I only saw him from afar and heard him speak many times later." - "What was he like?" - "Don't interrupt." Errake took a long, deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "He was… more than a man, that is all I can say for certain. I don't know what he was exactly, in the end. Maybe the primarchs knew, but we soldiers never learned it. He seemed like all of mankind's strengths come together in one being and amplified manifold. When I first laid eyes upon him I thought he was the same as the primarchs. He had the build for it, and was usually wearing his golden armor. But there was something odd about him, a strange quality that set him apart from everyone else. He seemed to _shine_ somehow, radiating an inner light that bespoke great power. And his eyes. They were deep, and when he'd look at you, you'd feel helpless and naked. Old eyes they were, terribly old." Errake stopped for a moment, lost in reverie. Aeren was mesmerized. Then Errake blinked and the moment passed. "Of course I only later learned he was a psyker, and a powerful one to boot. Probably the most powerful the world has ever seen."

Aeren frowned with puzzlement. "What's a psyker?" - "A witch." The boy recoiled. "That's ridiculous. The Emperor cannot be a witch." The marine tilted his head a little. "No? What is he, then?" Aeren struggled for words. "He is the Devine, the Master of Mankind, the Immortal Lord of Terra and all worlds were humans dwell." And more lowly: "He cannot be a witch." Errake watched him intently. There was a moment of silence between them, only the gong filling the space with his solemn sound.


	6. Lighthouse

VI

It was Errake who spoke next. "So what if the emperor isn't a god? It doesn't diminish his deeds. If anything, it makes them more impressive."

Aeren was astonished to hear these words coming out of the old Astartes' mouth. They somewhat calmed the thunderstorm of emotions he was feeling. If this traitor, this apostate, could find praise for an Emperor he had _abandoned_ , didn't this validate Aeren's worship even more? And yet... "But if it's true, that means I have been lied to my whole life. That I have _believed_ a lie."  
Errake shook his head. "That you believed it is meaningless. The question is whether you're ready to leave it behind _now_. Whether you're willing to _accept_ what you learn. Or will you cling to your old beliefs even though you know them to be false? _That_ would be weakness."

Aeren _did_ feel weak in this moment. His head was spinning from having to question one of his, nay, the Imperium's fundamental tenets. His stomach was a hard knot, and he thought he was going to be sick. He was desperately searching for a way out of this dilemma, and found one last anchor to hold onto. "You say the Ecclesiarchy is lying. But maybe you're the liar."

"A fair point. But consider this: Unlike them, I don't have a _reason_ to lie." Aeren raised a quizzical eyebrow. Errake continued. "Tell me: What is the one thing the Ecclesiarchy demands above all else? What is, for them, the highest virtue?" The boy was feeling completely lost now. "Piety?"

"Subordination. _Obedience_." Aeren felt like he had been punched in the guts. "They want you to crawl, to be a good little citizen and _do_ _your duty_. Having a divine mandate is certainly helpful for that, don't you think?" Aeren didn't answer. His vision was blurring, and the room was spinning around him. The last thing he saw was Errake's face, unmoved and stonelike as ever.

* * *

 _Aeren was running, down the middle aisle in the grand cathedral of hive Macharius. The vaulted roof, hundreds of meters above the floor, lay in shadows. Left and right stretched endless rows of seats, their ends, as well as any walls, lost in distant darkness. In the rows, there were dead people, some standing, some piling on top of each other in unruly heaps. On and on he ran, to the high dais at the far end and the gigantic statue of the Emperor behind it. Then he was standing in front of the statue, looking up to the giant, halo-crowned skull._

 _"Are you real?" The boy asked it. The skull looked down to him, somehow displaying an expression of pity. "I shouldn't be here." "Please. I need to know." said the boy. "I have no power here." Then, the statue vanished and a giant screen took it's place. On it appeared a face, old, regal, covered by an ornate miter, richly decorated with gold and precious stones: the_ Pontifex Urba. _His voice, blaring from many speakers, was loud and dignified, despite being warped by static._

" _Let fulfilling thy duty by thy greatest joy. Be grateful, for it separates man and beast. Forsaking it is akin to forsaking thy humanity, and like a beast thou shall find thy nourishment crawling on the ground. Thou shall be abhorred by the righteous, and they shall hunt thee and slay thee with the Emperor's blessing, for that is the place of beasts."_

 _Aeren pointed at the giant statue, which reappeared somewhere to the side, at the edge of his vision. "Did you know he is a witch?"_

" _Cursed is he who walks outside the Divine Light, for he will ever tread in darkness. No well will he find to quench his thirst, no grain to sate his hunger. He will be beset by wild beasts and find his road paved with broken glass, and evermore shall he be damned in the eyes of Emperor."_

 _Aeren tried to look at the statue again, but he found it would always slip away before he could train his eyes fully on it. "But where is the light? How do I find it?" he shouted. The giant face was dispassionate. "The faithless will find the Fire prepared for them."_

 _The screen flickered, and the face of the Pontifex vanished, only to be replaced by that of Errake. He grinned, displaying two rows of bestial fangs, and blood flowed out of his mouth. His voice filled the black void of the cathedral, and there was a sound likes bones grinding on another. "Walking on broken glass isn't so bad."_

 _In this moment, Aeren felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, finding himself face to face with a corpse, dead eyes piercing into him. "Do your duty!"_

* * *

He woke in his room then, groaning and covered in sweat. He felt cold and weak, and his throat was raw. He stumbled into the bath, opened the tap and drank the water in big, greedy gulps; it tasted awful, and swallowing it hurt. As it was running through him, it made him shiver even worse. Next to his cot, he found a knife; his own this time, the one he had last had on Ocallus, when he had futilely tried stabbing Errake's armored arm.

All that seemed to be a lifetime behind him now. His home. His friends. His comrades. Misery and loneliness washed over him then and he wept, shaking with deep sobs. Nothing remained him, and now even his faith was turning out to be a lie. _What does it matter if the Emperor isn't a god?_ Errake had asked him. It meant that the Ecclesiarchy was lying, that the one thing Aeren had thought undoubtedly pure and incorruptible was built on a _foundation_ of lies.

Again, Aeren strained his fever-ridden brain to come up with a solution, something to explain this impossibility. Something to hold on to. What if… what if they didn't know? Aeren slapped himself, trying to focus. If they didn't know the Emperor wasn't a divine being, didn't make that a huge difference? Aeren shook his head. It still meant they were wrong, if not by intention, then by ignorance. And if they didn't even get that right, what else would they be wrong about? In his mind, the Ecclesiarchy was losing it's light, turning gray and lackluster.

Aeren groaned. If he followed up on that thought it meant that behind all that made up the Imperium, with all it's imperfections, there was no unblemished moral authority, no core of truth, no _ideal_ to look up to. The Emperor might have still been worthy of veneration, but what good was that if his glory was shrouded by falsehoods propagated by his servants? And above all, why did the Emperor _allow_ all this?

Now, for the first time, he saw the Imperium in a new light. He saw the rigidity of it all, the contempt that the ruling classes held those below them in, the ever present suppression and violence. With the keystone that was the Ecclesiarchy bereft of it's legitimacy, the whole Imperium seemed to crumble before his eyes, leaving nothing but a rotten, ruined husk.

His grief turned into rage then, and he screamed. Feeling the need to destroy something, and lacking anything else, he turned to his cot and reduced it to scrap, screaming all along until his throat felt as if it was on fire. When he was finished, he leaned against the wall and started crying again. He slid down until he came to sit on the metal floor.

Then his eyes fell on the knife, and his tears dried up. He grabbed it and pulled it out of the scabbard, the polished steel glinting in the twilight of his room. On the broad blade, just above the guard, the double-headed eagle was stamped into the metal. "Hold on," he said, swallowing. "Hold on. Defenders of mankind. That still holds true." He gave the eagle a quick kiss, and a huge weight was lifted from his chest. And he was glad, because he had found something that gave the Imperium back a modicum of justification; finally something that was _true_ , something to hold on to. Soon, he fell asleep, the knife clutched to his chest.

* * *

When he woke, he felt refreshed. The cold also seemed to have mostly left his body. He took a shower and went to see Errake, knife at his side.

* * *

 _AN: Whelp. This was intense. And difficult to write. And where did that knife come from?_


	7. Rocky Places

VII

Errake was sitting his study. Before him, on a desk intricately carved from nalwood, rested a massive tome, clad in leather and silver. Behind him, a huge circular window, spanning the entire height of the wall, opened the view to a vista of stars. The electronic chime of the intercom rose him from his reading. He pressed a rune, and the room filled with static. "Yes?" - "It's the boy, my lord. He wishes to speak to you." Errake closed the book, careful to not damage the delicate, brittle pages, and leaned back in his chair, big and sturdy enough even for a Marine. "Send him in." The door opened, and in strode the boy, a determined look on his face. Errake noticed the knife in his belt. "I have two questions, and I want answers."

"So you've overcome your crisis. What is your conclusion?" Aeren shook his head. "I'm first." They eyed each other. Then Errake made an inviting gesture, surrendering antecedence.

"You said the Ecclesiarchy had a reason to lie to me because they wanted to ensure my subordination." The old Astartes nodded. "But that's the same you want, isn't it? You want me as your servant."

Errake shook his head. "I don't care for your obedience, at least not in the long run. I have no use for another servant. I don't _need_ one."

"Then what do you want? Why all these tests? And no more bullshit." Again, a few seconds passed before Errake answered. "Very well. I'm looking for a _neophyte_. We lost one of our battle-brothers recently, and I seek to bring our ranks back to full strength." Aeren wasn't sure he understood. "Are you saying..." - "I want you to become an Astartes." Aeren was shocked. "You want to make me… a Space Marine?" Errake gave a slow nod. "If you have what it takes."

The boy had to think on that for a moment. Becoming an Astartes, a warrior of legend, was every boy's dream, and Aeren was no exception. "But... wait a second. Wouldn't that make me your servant? Those other Marines, they obey you, don't they? And you're their lord."

"They follow me into battle because they think I'll lead them to victory. I am an experienced commander, and I win most of my battles. I also won't throw away their lifes without need. Not like some others. Outside of combat they are their own masters. All of them have earned what they have, and all of them are lords in their own right."

Aeren looked thoughtful. That seemed plausible. The marines he had seen so for seemed to treat Errake more as an equal than anything else. "I'll accept that for now." So, a chance to become a Space Marine… but then, he remembered where he was. Who _they_ were. "But what if I say no?" Errake's face, as always, was a mask. "You say you want me on your side. But you're still an enemy of the Imperium, or of Humanity. Joining you would make me a traitor as well. Why should I want that? And again, what happens if I say no? You kill me and vent my body into space? What kind of choice is that?" He had talked himself into a bit of a rage. But he could see that something in Errake's face had changed as well. He rose from his chair then, supporting himself with his knuckles on the table. Aeren, suddenly reminded of how dangerous this giant really was, took a step back. But Errake turned away from him, moving before the giant window.

"You don't like what I'm offering? This… choice as you call it, and that you seem to hate so much, is more than most of your kind ever get. If there is one thing the Imperium and the forces of Chaos have in common, is that most humans on either side will never be more than slaves. They will work their masters' machines until the day they drop dead from hunger or exhaustion. They are nothing but _fuel_ , quickly consumed and forgotten. And why not? It is their place, and they deserve no better. Perhaps you disapprove of this. Perhaps you want to scream and rage against it, but you aren't changing the fact that this is _the_ _world you're living in_.

My offer to _you_ is a way out. It's the _opportunity_ to break the chains that birth and fate have put on you. Make no mistake; becoming a Space Marine is hard, brutally so. Only the fewest have the strength to survive the training. But if you make it through the pain and the hardship, you will turn out more than a match for anything this world will throw at you." At this point, Errake turned around, fixing his gaze on the boy.

"But the true reward would be an even greater one: you'd become a _sovereign_. You'd become the master of your own destiny, free to make your mark on this world, and live as you see fit. That is the greatest triumph any man can ever hope for, and precious few are ever given the chance to even _try_ to claim it." He shook his head. "That, and nothing less, is what I'm offering you, and you have the gall to throw it in my face? To be indignant about the _choice_? P _iss_ on that." Errake sat down again. "Leave, and make your _choice_. And because I'm placing such a terrible burden on you, I'll give you a day to think about it. So you can consider whether you want to crawl in the dust for the rest of your life."

They boy turned to leave, surprised and overwhelmed. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Errake's voice one more time. "And Aeren? Make no mistake. This is your only chance. Should you decide to _walk the path_ , be prepared to give it your all. Because I _will_ hold you to it."

* * *

Aeren returned to his room. He spent a moment ruing that he had destroyed his cot and sat on the floor again. His newly found resolve had mostly left him under Errake's onslaught, and he realized what a fool he was: because he had challenged Errake with his questions, he had had this final decision thrust on him, prematurely, while he was still trying to find his place in this new world he had been thrown into. He looked at his knife again. The eagle, that had inspired him so only hours ago, had now lost it's power.

 _What to do_? The Imperium was dead to him, not that he would have been able to go back even if he'd wanted to. Defenders of Mankind. The purpose of the Imperial Guard. That was what he wanted now, to be the shield of his fellow humans against this uncaring universe Errake had so aptly described. The Guard would have been the way, but he knew the chances to make _that_ happen were abysmal. Even if he did find a way to escape from a spaceship in the middle of Emperor-knew-where, even if he did find them, they would most likely shoot him on sight, if the scary Inquisition didn't get to him first. Aeren sighed. No use crying over spilled milk.

He had to focus on the now, and to make the best of the situation at hand. But what was the best? If he chose slavery, he would live out his life without meaning, but at least he'd be able to tell himself he was a victim, that he had no choice but to bow and scrape, and that he, at least in his heart, remained true to the Emperor. _But that isn't all that appealing any more, is it?_

Or he could choose the harder path, give his all to become an Astartes and, with that, a sworn enemy of the Imperium. He would probably have to do some pretty bad things. He would probably even have to fight the Guard sooner or later. But if he succeeded… Errake had said he'd be able to stand up to anything, to _make his mark_. So maybe, just maybe, he would be able to use his power to help his fellow humans? To change some things for the better? He nodded, the answer becoming clear to him: if helping humans truly was his goal, this would be the best chance he'd ever get. He stood up. Errake had been right. This wasn't much of a choice after all.

* * *

A few minutes later, he was standing before Errake again, wearing a mask of grim determination. "I'm in. Make me a Space Marine." The old Astartes nodded slowly. "Very well. Found a reason to live, have you?" Aeren nodded as well. "Yes. I'll do it for the people." Errake gave him an odd look, and a spasm ran over his face. Was he angry? _I don't care_ , thought Aeren. _Let him fume_. But his future lord just shrugged. "You'll do what you must. As will we all." Seconds passed.

"One more thing, Aeren. You haven't killed yet, have you?" Aeren shook his head. A bad feeling was crawling up his spine. "You can't be an Astartes without being a killer first. Tomorrow, you will become one." Aeren's eyes went wide. "Or you will be dead. Go. Prepare yourself." The boy left, heart in his mouth and an incredulous look on his face.

* * *

Later, Errake was joined by Endymion on the dimly lit observation deck, from where one could see down most of the Deimos' mighty frame. "How goes it with Aeren, oh most glorious leader?"

"The boy has made the call. He will walk the path." His lieutenant nodded with appreciation. "He said he'll do it for the people." Endymion smiled. "Ah, such idealism. He must be very innocent. Truly the greatest treasure of the young."

"I'd rather the boy left his innocence behind. He's clever, but also a dreamer, and lacks aggression. Tomorrow I'll have him fight in the pit."

"Excellent idea." It was quiet on the observation deck, the ship currently being in it's night cycle.  
"Errake. The boy lost his home not too long ago. And from what you've told me, his faith has taken a serious blow as well. And _now_ , with him set to become one of us, he is about to enter a world of pain worse than his darkest nightmares. He'll need something, _anything_ , to hold onto, and his grand ideas won't last long in the pit. We need to give him something new he can care about, something _concrete_. Or we may yet lose him. Remember what you once said to me? _Every one of us has something that drives him. Something to replace that original purpose we lost._ "

"I remember. Have anything in mind for our foolish neophyte?"

Endymion smiled his sweetest smile. "A pet! Something he can love and protect. That will see him through the rough times in the beginning, until he toughens up."

Errake shot him a sidelong glance. "Very well." His lieutenant clapped his hands. "Just leave it to me! I'll definitely find something." And with that, he vanished into the gloom, whistling a happy tune.


	8. The Pit

VIII

Aeren trained like a madman for the rest of day: running, lifting, combat exercises. It stilled his anxiety and allowed him to sleep like a rock. Come morning, he felt fresh and relaxed. He went for something to eat and, not wanting to overexert himself before his fight, did only light exercising during the day. It seemed to go on forever, and a bit of fear crept back into him. He was startled when his door finally opened. To his surprise, it was Endymion who came to pick him up, cheerful as always. He was wearing leather pants, and a shirt made from a fine, shiny white cloth, that left much of his chiseled chest uncovered. "Good evening, Aeren. So, today is your big day huh?" Aeren nodded. "Yeah." His mouth was dry.

"And, you're nervous." Not a question. Aeren stood up, knife in hand. "Somewhat, yes." Endymion eyed the mess that had been a cot, once. "I'll make sure you get a new bed if you make it through." - "A cot will do." They left Aeren's room and began walking to their destination. "Are you sure you don't want a real bed? Only because we're Astartes we don't have to forsake all pleasantries life has to offer. We're not all as _spartan_ as the old man." - "Spartan?"

"A warrior tribe of ancient Terra. They had little use for luxuries and became a symbol for toughness, military strength and frugality. They also were known to have a high standard of genetic purity. Of course, the analogy is incomplete. Errake doesn't tend to fall in love with _his_ battle-brothers, for example." - "They did that?"

"Yes."

"Strange."

"I imagine it to be advantageous. Love is pretty much the strongest bond humans can form. I think you're bound to fight all the harder if you're trying to protect someone that dear to you."

Aeren looked at him, astounded. The statuesque marine smiled down to him. "What? Are you surprised to hear an Astartes talk about love?"

"It just doesn't seem like something a Space Marine would concern himself with."

"It's true, most of us don't. In fact, most are incapable of that emotion. Not to mention the physical… inadequacies." A broad grin was now plastered on Endymion's face, and Aeren wondered how in the world a Marine could ever be considered physically inadequate. Endymion continued. "But, a select few of us are quite versed in love's intricacies. One could even say we are _devoted_ to it." Aeren didn't know what to make of all that, and they walked in silence for a time. At length, Aeren spoke again. "What's it like?"

"Hmm?" - "Killing a person."

"That depends entirely. On the person. On the circumstances. It can be sad, or glorious, intimate or impersonal. Killing someone in close combat, as you're going to, is usually exhilarating."

"Do yo know who I'm going to fight?"

"No. It will be a volunteer though." - "Someone would go willingly into a fight to the death?"

"Of course. Soldiers do it all the time." - "Yeah, but soldiers have a _reason_. This is different."

"Is it now? There are many who fight simply for the joy of it. Astartes do it. It is part of our very nature. It's why we're so good at it, no matter what other reasons we might have. That is something we and our estranged brothers in the Imperium have in common. Now, the people you're about to meet are not different. They embrace their baser desires, and are fond of death and bloodshed. Many of them worship _Khorne_."

"Who is that?"

"Ah. That, I'm afraid, is a tale for another day. Here we are."

They were standing in front of a bulkhead; behind it, a diffuse murmur could be heard. "This is gonna be fun." And with that, Endymion threw the door open.

* * *

When they stepped through the low metal arch, the noise became more distinct, and _louder_. They were standing in an unlit corridor, but at it's end, orange light flickered on the walls. Aeren heard the voices of many people, and a deep, rhythmic drone. Music?

When they came closer, Aeren noticed the corridor was vibrating with the energy that was released in the area. Torches, smelling rancidly and producing sooty smoke, where responsible for the light. Suddenly, the ceiling disappeared, and to their left and right, a metal framework could be seen, that stretched into the darkness on either side. It was highest near them, and seemed to lower to the ground in the direction they were walking. _Stands_ , Aeren thought. The construction, too, was vibrating with the drums and the roar of a crowd. Under it, big and small containers had been haphazardly stacked, as the declining roof of the stands allowed it.

A few persons were sitting there. Most of them had metal cups in their hands, and two were smoking. They sure looked wild; Aeren thought they looked like some of the gangers he had seen in Macharius. They were lean, and clad into rags mostly, stitched together from whatever they'd had available, be it leather, cloth or plastic. Their clothing left a lot of skin uncovered, though whether that was because of the sticky heat or to show off their numerous scars Aeren couldn't say. He took all that in in a split second, and adrenaline began flooding his body. One of them stepped into their way. His pupils seemed enormous to Aeren, filling his eyes almost completely. He gazed up to Endymion, all amazement. "N' evening m' lord." And, seemingly noticing Aeren for the first time, "Foun' yerself a new toy, eh?" he slurred.

"Out of my way, scum." said Endymion and stabbed him in the throat with the fingers of his left hand. The man was thrown back and landed on his back; The Astartes stepped over him. As Aeren followed him, he could see that the man was holding his throat, producing a retching sound all the while. His companions then came to his aid, and Aeren could hear one of them scream: "Quickly, cut his windpipe or he'll choke!" Stunned more than anything else by this short outburst of violence, Aeren focused on the way ahead of him, however hard that might have been. His head was filled with noise, he could feel it in his chest even. The air, thick with the stench of machines and people and smoke, set his nostrils on fire. He was sweating, the oily atmosphere coating him already head to toe.

They came to the end of that artificial canyon formed by the stands, for that was indeed what they were: lining the walls of the cavernous room on all four sides. Hundreds of people filled them; men, women, children, sweat glistening on their bodies in the orange twilight. They were smoking, drinking, dancing, screaming, partaking in the noise and contributing to it. To Aeren's left, there was an area separated from this chaos. There, he could see some Astartes, Errake among them. He sat in the middle, on a carved wooden chair that seemed almost like a throne. The lord alone was quiet, a lone mountain defying the churning see around him. He was wearing a greatcoat of rough, dark fabric, trousers of the same material and heavy boots; but he too, had foregone a shirt tonight.

His companions were hardly heavier dressed. Before their loge, on the ground level, there stood two men screaming into each others' ears. One of them caught Aeren's eye. He was leaning on a tall black metal staff, looking like parts of it had been molten at some point. He was wearing a greatcoat as well, although his was dirty and at the same time more ornate than Errake's. Aeren needed a moment to realize it was a commissar's coat, and before his mouth there was fixed something looking like a voxcaster. An unruly mane of white hair was falling from the man's scalp onto his shoulders, and one of his eyes had been replaced by a crude prosthetic. _He_ was were Endymion was going.

And finally, in the center of the floor, was the pit. It was really just that; two meters deep, and about three by six meters wide, with bare, albeit somewhat rusty metal walls. It's ground was covered in sand, showing dark spots in several places.

Endymion was talking to the man in with the staff now, pointing to Aeren and beckoning him over with an encouraging smile. Aeren's legs moved without his consent. They felt weak, and he seemed to have lost the control over his body. Mechanically he walked to were the two dissimilar men were waiting for him. "This is Cortez!" introduced Endymion the stranger, who gave a curt nod. "I'll leave you two then!" And with that, he climbed up to the loge where his brothers welcomed him, while Cortez pulled Aeren to his side. He then switched on his voxcaster, and, while raising his left hand, stamped the end of his staff on the floor a few times.

"All right, people, people people!" Somehow, his voice coming from the speakers was even louder than the ruckus. Slowly, the music faded, and the many voices ebbed away until only a low rumble remained. Aeren's ears were glad for the moment of respite, however short it would prove. Cortez waited patiently, his eyes wandering over the crowd.

"I wish you all a fine evening, you fine, fine people!"

"Hey fuck you Cortez!" came a voice from the upper ranks, and the crowd stirred in laughter and amusement. Cortez pointed his left index finger at the scoundrel. "And you, you piece of shit! I welcome you all! You all now why we're here, and you all now what this place is. That's right, welcome to the piiiiit!" He had lowered his voice for the last word, and it rolled over the masses like the horn of a distant titan. He was rewarded with cheers and whistles. "And at the special request of our gracious lord Stoneheart..." He indicated a bow in the direction of the loge. Even more cheers and whistles this time, which Errake acknowledged by raising the fingers of his right hand a few centimeters from his armrest.

"… the first fight of the night will be one to the death!" The crowd made a low "ooooh" sound, excitement gripping them. "Now, entering the pit for this spectacle will be this fine young man!" With that, Cortez swiftly switched his staff to his left hand and raised Aeren's left with his own right. "This, my dear friends, is the good Aeren Mallory, who joined us after our recent episode on Ocallus, where he used to be engaged with with the _fine_ folk of the Imperial Guard!" This time, they catcalled. Some yelled obscenities, and several of the tin cups were thrown in Aeren's general direction. Cortez made a placating gesture. "Now, now, friends, he has since seen the error of his ways and abandoned his rotten corpse of an emperor." They cheered again. Aeren was beginning to feel annoyed. The crowd seemed to be a rather immature and fickle bunch.

"He is now here, with us, and eager to spill some blood. And I hear it's his first time!" Cortez made a coy face. Laughter and whistles rained from the stands. Aeren blushed, partly from embarrassment, partly from anger. This was getting ridiculous. Cortez continued. "But, we can hardly let him play with himself now, can we? I mean, where's the fun in that?" The crowd was hooting now, while Aeren grit his teeth. Again, Cortez gave them a moment, before he became solemn.

"All right, enough with the bullshit. After all, someone is going to die soon. Now, who wants to step in the pit with young master Mallory here? Who wants to spill blood in this sacred place, and to honor our lords, in this world and the other?" The dim hall was once gain filled with murmuring. Aeren let his eyes wander over the stands, his heart beating like crazy. Who would be his opponent? Minutes seemed to pass, but in reality, it could not have been more than ten seconds, before he heard a voice, raised above all the others. "I will." His eyes jumped then, trying to locate the source. After a few more seconds, he spotted his challenger, as others began to turn to him.

A young man made his way down, accompanied by many hands giving him encouraging pats on the back, and an increasing chorus of clapping hands, shouts, and whistles. Cortez pointed to him as well. "We have a winner!" Eventually, the boy made his way to where Cortez and Aeren were waiting. Aeren scrutinized him. The boy could only have been one or two years older than him. He had the pale skin of someone who hasn't seen much sunlight in his life. He certainly was somewhat more muscular than Aeren, and carried himself with an easy confidence. They were facing each other, Cortez between them. "Now, my fine young friend, tell us your name." The boy stood straight, and spoke with pride.

"I'm Orthan, son of Ocho." Somewhere up in the stands another voice made itself heard. "That's my son!" It belonged to a skinny man, who, too, seemed ready to burst with pride. Again, the crowd cheered.

"So tell us, Orthan, son of Ocho, have you killed before?" The boy shook his head. "No." Aeren exhaled. At least he wasn't a seasoned killer either. Cortez looked straight between them and took a deep breath.

"Another virgin!" The people roared with laughter. Orthan tried, and failed, to retain his dignified look, his jaw working angrily. Aeren rolled his eyes.

Eventually, Cortez brought the crowd to heel with his staff. "All right, all right, let's get this party started. Now Aeren, since you are the challenged, what is your weapon of choice?"

Aeren took his knife from the scabbard and raised it high into the air. "My knife!" Cortez turned to Orthan. "Do you have a knife, son?" he asked, which the boy denied. But there were enough people in the audience who _had_ knifes, and one was procured and handed down to the fighters. It was a makeshift thing, of similar size than Aeren's and covered with dark stains. _Great, even if I survive the fight, I'll die of infection_ thought the boy. Cortez addressed the crowd once more. "Now, the challenge has been spoken, the weapons chosen. Time for last words. Orthan?"

The older boy leaned close to the voxcaster. "I will kill Aeren to bring pride and honor to my mother and father." Then, he inhaled, and screamed at the top of his lungs. "LET KHORNE BE MY WITNESS!" The people roared in agreement, stomping their feet as one. This time it took Cortez longer to calm them. "Fighting words. What about you, Aeren?"

The boy shook his head. "Let's get this over with before I die of boredom." The crowd _ooed_ , and laughed, and began stomping their feet again. The two fighters were now helped down into the pit. Cortez was stamping his staff in the same rhythm as the people, creating a collective, furious heartbeat that became faster and faster. The two boys were standing in the pit, eying each other suspiciously. Cortez raised his staff and free hand, inhaling loudly, the sound turned into an angry wraith-wind by the speakers. As one, the people stopped their stomping. There was a moment of silence and held breaths. Then, a single word, bellowed by Cortez. "BEGIN!"

* * *

 _AN: So here we are. While writing this I felt I might've dragged this out too long, but while proofreading it seemed o.k. What do you guys think?_

 _Also, please tell me any errors you find. Thanks for reading._


	9. One

IX

 _This is it_ , Aeren thought. _It's either him or me_. Then, all conscious thought left him, and for a while, he became a being reduced to instinct and reflexes, ingrained into his muscles by dozens of hours of repetition. The boys had closed in now and began circling each other, knives moving in slow, wavelike motions. One might have thought they were joined in dance, their knives mere accessories to some quaint rite. Their senses sharpened to utmost clarity by the danger, they appraised one another, looking for an opening, a momentary lapse in concentration. And then, the moment came, and like the first flash of lightning in a thunderstorm it set things alive: Orthan, crouching low, stabbed at Aeren's belly; but the boy was quick, at least as quick as him. With his left hand, he deflected the blow to the right. In the same moment, he thrust his own blade forward, catching Orthan in the breast. But while he was retreating from his attack, Orthan drew his weapon in a horizontal cut across his abdomen, leaving a shallow cut. Aeren didn't notice, what with all the adrenaline pumping through him. The dam was broken; he was in familiar knife-territory, and that they were using deadly weapons instead of hit markers didn't change anything. The wound he had visited on his opponent's body hadn't dropped him, yet; it wasn't deep enough to be fatal by itself, but it was bleeding heavily.

With a scream, Orthan attacked again, this time coming for the neck in a wide arc. But again, Aeren's training served him well. Again, he deflected with his right, his enemy's knife going completely astray; Aeren cut across Orthan's throat. Immediately, a thin spurt of blood shot from the wound. Jumping back, he shoved the boy, who fell to the ground, an incredulous look on his face. His blood stained the sand he was lying on. Orthan tried to sit up, but fell back immediately. He couldn't breathe; a wet, gurgling sound was coming from his mouth. His body convulsed, one, two times; then he lay still, mouth and eyes wide open, still emitting that gurgling sound.

* * *

Aeren didn't know how long he had been standing there when his senses returned to him. The first he realized was Orthan's body lying there, his astonished expression softened in death. The next thing that reached him was the cheering of the crowd. He looked up, and saw them all, looking at _him,_ pointing at him, their faces full of excited joy. He looked further, and saw Ocho, crying, the people around him hugging him, patting his back encouragingly and speaking words of solace.

Aeren returned his eyes to the body. _Done_ , he thought. _Done_. Mechanically, he walked to the edge of the pit, and grabbed the hands that were reaching down to him. They pulled him up, and he, too, was patted on the back and given compliments; he wouldn't be able to remember them. Endymion stepped into his field of view, grinning broadly. He put his heavy hand on Aeren's shoulder and let him to the exit; the people parted before them respectfully, making way. Before they entered the shadows of the stands, Aeren turned, searching for Errake's face. He found the old man, who seemingly hadn't moved in all the time. Aeren thought he saw him give a slight nod, but with the chaos around him, he couldn't be sure. When they were almost back at the bulkhead, Aeren looked up. "They are calling my name." Endymion smiled, his golden eyes dancing in the torchlight. "Yes. And you've earned it."

* * *

They entered Sabato's apothecarium. He greeted them. "Returning from the field of honor I see. And still alive to boot." Aeren just nodded. The medic looked at the cut on the boy's abdomen. "Still got nicked, though." Sabato had him sit on a metal table and started to dress his wound. Endymion watched him intently. "How do you feel?" Aeren shook his head. "Honestly, right now I don't feel anything. Nothing at all." He was staring into space, recalling the moments. "It was all over so fast. One moment, we're standing in the pit, the next moment he's lying there with that stupid look on his face and spraying blood everywhere. And then..." Aeren shook his head again. "He just stopped. Just like that, it was over. One moment, he was alive; the next, not. Just a pile of dead meat."

Endymion nodded thoughtfully. "It _was_ over quickly. You gave him a clean death; good for him. And for you, I reckon." In this moment, Sabato stepped in. "So how _did_ you kill him?" Aeren drew a finger over his Adam's apple. "Cut his throat."

"Looked like he got blood in his lung," Endymion contributed.

"Hm. So he suffocated?" - "Yup."

Sabato looked Aeren in the eyes. "I'm done with the cut. I'll hook you up to an IV over the night, and tomorrow you'll be good to go for your next round." When he saw Aeren's blank stare, he added: "I understand you're to fight again."

Aeren looked over to Endymion, who nodded. "Yeah. The old man thinks you need more experience, and frankly, I think he's right." Aeren sighed. "I guess I should've seen this coming."

Endymion smiled. "Yes, you should've."

* * *

 _AN: A few words. I know this a very short one, but I wanted to get this out so you guys knew this thing is still alive and kicking. Now, there are several reasons this is so short. First of all, I spent two entire days reading the brilliant_ **A World of Bloody Evolution** _by_ **RedrumSprinkles** _. Seriously, check it out, even if you've never heard of_ RWBY _. This relates only tangentially to_ **my** _writing, but it was still time spent otherwise. The main reason this part takes so long it's that is really difficult. I found the fight very hard to write, and that may be one reason why it's over so quickly (the other being that knife fights are fucking deadly). There are more fights coming up, and I have some ideas what to do with them, but right now they just aren't working.  
_

 _In addition to all of the above, I haven't been in prime writing condition in the last days, physically._

 _So how will this continue? My plan for this is, to do at least one decently-sized update per week._

 _Also, starting now, I will answer to reviews publicly, at least if they bring up valid points or valuable input._

 _To start this off, I will answer to_ **drSpliff** _'s review of the last chapter:  
_

 _On Cadia, they have the whiteshields, and I remember reading they are recruited as early as ten. Knowing the Imperium, I very much doubt they have problems with using kids as soldiers. More importantly, the transformation into a space marine has to begin at a very early age; according to the lexicanum, the initial phases start at age 10-14. And finally, I think it's interesting to view all this stuff from a pair of young eyes. So there you have it._

* * *

 _Let me hear what you think, and thanks for reading._


	10. Two

X

"Look who's here again for more!" Cortez was doing his shtick again. Aeren was standing beside him, ignoring the clamor and looking tired. He hadn't slept all that well. He had dreamed of Orthan, reliving their fight over and over again: cutting his throat, him lying there, looking like he couldn't understand the fate that hat befallen him. Aeren had been sick once, too. But Sabato, expecting that had had placed a bucket next to the cot Aeren had spent the night on. And now he was here, back in this nightmare, where peace and order had no place. He looked down into the pit. The dark stain where Orthan had met his end was still there.

"Why, it's young master Mallory, freshly blooded only yesterday! And already, he hungers for life again!" Whistles and cheers. But then there was a single voice, disturbing the exuberance like an unexpected bucket of cold water. "Cortez! Here, I'll fight him." Aeren looked for the source, and saw Otho, already making his way down through the stands. _Throne_ , thought the boy. _He is out for vengeance_. Cortez pointed to him. "And we have a new volunteer already. Give it up for Otho!" The people obliged. When Otho reached them, he regarded Aeren with an odd look. Not so much anger, but… desperation? He must have been around forty, a thin man, hair cropped short. Aeren thought he didn't look all that dangerous.

"O.k. both of you know the drill," Cortez said. "Aeren gets to choose the weapon."

"Knife." said the boy, drawing his weapon and holding it at arm's length. Otho nodded, pulling out his own blade. _It's the same one Orthan used_ , thought Aeren. _He is really taking this personal._

Cortez nodded decisively. "All right. Now for the last words." Otho took his time, collecting his thoughts, his eyes fixed on Aeren. "When my boy challenged you, I was so proud. I thought he was going to become a man. But when you killed him, my pride turned to ash."

"It was his choice," Aeren said. "He knew what was at stake." Otho nodded. "Yes, and it was a worthy death. He is in the realm of Khorne now. But I'm thinking, he must be so alone in the other world." Otho turned his head to the side for a second, then looked back to Aeren. His eyes were filling with tears, but he was smiling at the same time. "I need to send you to him; so he has a companion to walk with him over the broken plains to the brass citadel, where Khorne gathers his champions around him. I hope you can accept that." Otho wiped his tears away. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't hate me for this." Aeren frowned. "You could still lose, you know." Otho shook his head. "I cannot lose. I _must_ not lose. I must do this, for my son." _Well he's gone off the deep end_ , Aeren thought.

"O. k., that was… something," said Cortez, trying to prevent any further digressions. He turned to the boy. "Aeren?" A shaken head was his only answer.

* * *

They stood in the pit, facing each other. To Aeren, the whole situation felt surreal; the impression of the previous fight still fresh in his mind, he was having a major déjà vu. And now he was to fight this man, the _father_ , who had obviously gone mad with grief. _What am I doing here_? He thought. _Later. Concentrate on surviving first_.

When Cortez gave the signal, Otho attacked him at once; Aeren dodged. The older man pressed the attack, pushing Aeren back, who found himself in the defense. The father was slower than his son, but he had greater skill with a knife, and his attacks had the higher reach; Aeren had definitely found his match. He found he couldn't close in. So he did the next best thing: focusing on his enemy's knife hand. Ducking under a wide swing, he caught the inside of Otho's forearm, putting as much strength into the cut as he could.

Otho gasped. With his tendons severed and his veins opened, he could no longer hold his knife. It fell onto the sand, which was already becoming stained by his blood. Aeren, having lost his balance after leaning into his attack, was hurrying to get back on his feed. He felt triumph. This had turned the fight in his favor. Now he would simply have to… Otho's left fist hit him in the side of the head, and his light's went out.

When he came to, he was lying on the back; Otho was over him, pinning the boy's arms down with his knees. He was pale, and breathing heavily, and seemed to have difficulties keeping his eyes open. He had tried to dress his arm with his shirt, but it was already soaked through. In his left, he held Aeren's knife.

"Awake now?" He breathed, a serene smile on his face. "Good. It will be over soon." He inhaled, gathering his strength, and, putting his head back and spreading his arms he screamed "KHORNE! Take this boy to your side!" Aeren, confronted with his immanent death, felt his last reserves of strength flooding through him. He raised his legs and, wrapping them around Otho's head from behind, pulled the unwelcome weight away from him.

Otho was completely taken by surprise and lost his balance; Aeren, struggling to hold him down, grabbed the knife Otho had dropped earlier, and that a quick glance revealed to be close to his right hand. With all his might, he stabbed Otho in the groin, and was rewarded with a scream of pain. Kicking and struggling, he moved out from under him and got onto his feet; Otho remained on the ground, groaning and pulling himself into a fetal position while holding his red-stained crotch. Aeren was shaking with exhaustion and the weight of _really_ becoming aware for the first time how close to death he was coming by stepping into the pit. Knife ready and his eyes fixed on his enemy, he carefully lowered himself to pick up his own weapon.

 _Now what?_ Otho was still alive, but made no move to continue the fight. He opened his eyes, fixating Aeren and breathing slowly; he looked very tired, but smiled none the less. "Well fought, young warrior. You've honored me. Looks like I will be the one who joins my son on the other side, for now. We will wait for you." And with that, his breath faded, and his eyes lost focus.

Aeren, utterly spent, let himself be dragged upwards.

* * *

As Endymion walked him back to his room, he felt as if he would fall asleep while on his feet.

"It's ridiculous, you know," he slurred. "How many fights do you think I'm gonna last? These guys are stronger, they have the longer reach and more fighting experience. I just got lucky the first two times is all." Endymion had no pity for him, for once. "If you don't make it, then you obviously weren't Astartes material to begin with. You see, to become one of us, it's not enough to be good; you have to be _exceptional_. You've proven that you can handle yourself; now, you must _impress_ us." Once again, Aeren felt despair rise up in him, and bitter tears filled his eyes. "But I'm just a kid." When the Astartes answered, his voice was softer than before. "I'm afraid, nobody will give a shit about that; least of all the old man." They walked a few meters in silence. "You were warned that the path would be hard. Now you must see if you have the strength to walk it to the end."

Aeren sniffled. "What about that Khorne guy?" Endymion shook his head. "That isn't explained in five minutes, and besides, I think Errake will want to be the one to tell you about all that stuff." They had arrived at Aeren's room, and Endymion put a hand on his shoulder, looking down to him with a friendly smile. "Rest. There'll be another fight waiting for you tomorrow, and the world looks brighter after a good night's sleep." Aeren frowned. "That sounds like a load of bullshit to me." And with that, he went into his room, leaving behind the flabbergasted marine.

* * *

The next morning, Aeren woke with a great emptiness in him. _Is this what I want? I want to help people, but if I have to kill dozens of them before I even get to the point where I_ can _help them, what good is that? This is bullshit._ He sat up. _But what is the alternative? Do nothing. Lie down. Someone else will become an Astartes in my stead. Perhaps someone who doesn't give a shit at all. Wouldn't that be even worse? So, w_ _h_ _ere does that leave me? Am I willing to sacrifice these people on my way? That is the question, isn't it._

He took his knife out of the scabbard. The blade was covered with patches of dried blood almost down to the guard; only half of the eagle could be seen. He took it to the sink and cleaned it as best as he could. _Gonna have to ask for a whetstone and oil._ Soon, the steel was shining again, but dark spots still clang to the hard to reach places. _There is a way out_ , it seemed to say.

 _You know how to kill with a knife. You could apply that knowledge to yourself. Leave all this shit behind. Let others stake out their miserable lives in this rotten world as they see fit; it's of no concern to you._ Aeren shook his head. He wouldn't kill himself. Not right now, anyway. That way would still be open to him, after all, if everything else failed. _And besides, the ones I have killed so far did step into the pit by their own free will. Because they think this Khorne guy would reward them or something. It's not my fault they lost._ _So, as long as these idiots keep throwing themselves on my knife, why should I feel bad about that?_ Aeren nodded, decisively. _So I guess for the time being, my goal remains untainted_. _I can continue on the path, at least for a while longer._

* * *

In the evening, he found himself back in the tumult of the arena, frowning and with crossed arms, waiting who would challenge him that night. He was well aware that this might turn out to be his last fight; as he had said to Endymion, it was only a matter of time before he met someone who ended his streak of luck. But that was, after all, a part of what he had committed to. "Here, I'll fight him!" Someone cried.

"No let me! I'll stick him good!" Another one. There was some commotion; well, more than usual, anyway. Someone made their way through the throng, cuffing and pushing people left and right. When the person made their way to the front, Aeren saw that it was a woman; lean and muscular, covered as in as many scars as anybody around her.

Cortez whistled lowly. "You better watch yourself, kid. She's _tough."_ Aeren watched her, as she moved slowly towards them. Her black hair was cut short, messily. _She_ _did_ _it herself_ , Aeren thought. There was something odd about her face though, some strange quality that the boy couldn't pinpoint. Whatever it was, Cortez didn't seem to notice; or to care. He welcomed her with an inviting gesture.

"Look, people, who joins us tonight after a long absence from the pit: the one, the only, the great Liz Cordeau!" The crowd _ooed_ , and someone cried: "Oh yeah, you're in trouble now, kid!" Liz took her place on Cortez's right side, sneering at Aeren. "Ready to die, boy?" Aeren shrugged. "What about you?"

"Oh, I don't worry too much."

"Ok, ok, there'll be plenty of time to diss each other later," Cortez intervened. "Or maybe there won't! Anyway, Aeren, what are you two going to fight with tonight?" Aeren took out his knife and flicked his finger against the blade. Liz took out her own as well, and, opening her mouth to a snarl, drew the edge over the tip of her tongue.

"Oh, will you look at this crazy bitch!" Cortez shouted. "I think we're in for a real treat, people! Now, make your last words!" Liz spat blood on the floor.

"I'll gut you, you little shit!"

Aeren gave himself dismissive. "Bring it on." Once again, the people were hooting; Liz and Aeren hopped into the pit.

* * *

"Begin!" Cortez shouted. Aeren started to move towards Liz, who made no moves to assume a defensive stance; instead, she continued to sneer at her opponent. Even when Aeren was really close, she just stood there, grinning. "Come at me, boy!"

Aeren tilted his head. "Ok, let's see what you got." He lunged at her, swinging at her side; but with lightning speed, she actually moved close to him, _inside the range of his attack_. For a split second, her face hovered close to him, and it seemed to him he wasn't looking at the woman anymore; rather, he felt he was looking _into_ her, or _through_ her, and saw something else. A twisted mockery of a face, with a huge mouth full of thin, needle-like teeth and eyes that pierced him, like coals burning with an icy, white light.

And then, he felt the tip of her knife enter his mouth, and it scraped over his teeth when she cut through it's corner, and on through his cheek. While Aeren was still realizing the white hot pain, she headbutted him, breaking his nose and sending him to the ground.

Aeren, set alight by adrenaline, struggled away from her; she didn't follow. A metallic tang filled his mouth as blood poured into it, the halves of his severed cheek flapping around limply. A groan of horror left his throat. "Whad the Fwuck?" he croaked. The ghastly vision was gone however; now it was Liz again who stood there, mocking him. "What's the problem _boy_? Don't like being on the other side of the knife?"

Aeren didn't answer, but got on his feet, spitting out blood all the while. The knife was shaking in his hand when he held it before him, a naive and purely instinctive gesture of protection. Liz raised an eyebrow.

"Well at least you got the balls to get up again. We'll have much fun, you and I. I can tell."

And this time, _she_ attacked. She sped forward with a scream, little more than a blur. Aeren desperately stabbed in her general direction, but she spun around to his left side and stabbed his far hand, the blade piercing through it, back to palm. Standing to his left now, and pushing down with her knife's edge, she forced Aeren onto his knees. While going down, he turned to her and stabbed again. She caught his wrist in a vice like grip. Now he was kneeling in front of her, both hands arrested. Tears of pain in his eyes, he looked up to her, blood filling his mouth. Liz twisted the knife stuck in his left, eliciting another groan. Then she bowed down to him and smiled. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Aeren spat the blood in her face; it jerked back, her hand releasing his. Pulling his impaled hand from her blade, he threw himself backwards; but while he retreated, he aimed a vicious strike at her thigh, giving her a long cut on the outside.

She screamed, loud and high; but while he was still jumping, the sound she emitted changed, became a hiss, deep and gurgling. And again, her face changed, and this time, Aeren was sure it was real: a distorted version of herself, somehow overlapping her other face. Her eyes, black holes in which embers of ice burned with baneful fire; her mouth, a cave filled with curved fangs. A deathly cold radiated from her, and Aeren was hit by a wave of sheer, absolute horror.

Before he could do anything, she rushed him again, black, shiny claws sprouting from her fingertips. With a snarl, she attacked his face. The boy, too slow to react even if he hadn't been frozen stiff by the most profound fear he had ever known, felt her claws raking through muscle, bone and sinew; by pure instinct, he pulled back then, trying to turn his face away from the pain that dug into his head like shards of ice. At the edge of his vision, he saw a giant figure slamming into the _thing_ from above: Errake. That was the last thing he saw, before darkness took him.

* * *

 _AN: Well folks, that is it. Story is over. I hoped you liked it!_

 _Naah, I'm just messing with you. Aeren lives, but he won't be glad about it when he wakes up. Again I had some troubles with the fight scenes. Hope they work for  
you nonetheless. _

_Reviews!  
_

 **drSpliff** _: Thanks mate, that is very much appreciated! It really made my day.  
_

 **Guest:** _Glad you enjoy the story. I like that the added realism is a free bonus when I keep the fight scenes short because I find them hard to write, lol.  
_

* * *

 _As always, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading.  
_


	11. A Bouquet of Red

XI: A Bouquet of Red

Aeren rose from his faint like a piece of flotsam rises to the surface of a dark, storm whipped sea. The pain welcomed him, drilling holes in his head and filling them with acid. Something obstructed his vision, limiting his field of view. Before him, he recognized three figures; Sabato, frowning; Endymion, with a look of concern on his face. And lastly, Errake, his face the same stony mask as always. He must have made a noise or drawn their attention some other way, because they turned to him. "Don't worry, you'll live," said Errake. "And more: your ascension begins now."

With a curt movement of his head, Sabato indicated them to leave. "Go, I'll take care of him." With that, he pulled a surgeon's mask over his face.

Before Endymion vanished from Aeren's view, he turned one more time and gave him a solemn look. "Do not fear the pain, Aeren. Embrace it. It enriches you, and you will be stronger for it. Do not fear it."

Sabato shoved him out, and came over to the boy. "Try to relax."

Aeren tried to speak, tried to tell him to kill him, or to give him something against the pain. But every motion sent new lightning through his face, and only an inarticulate sound made it through his closed lips. Sabato addressed someone Aeren couldn't see. "Prepare the organs." He then bowed over Aeren's chest, something in his hand that looked like a large metal pen connected to some sort of tube, and with a red point of light at the tip. Aeren couldn't see what happened next, since moving his head was out of the question; he only heard a faint hissing sound.

* * *

He must have passed out after that, because the next thing he perceived was a bright white light shining down on him. The splitting pain in his head was now somehow accompanied by a pain in his chest, which felt as if it was being broken asunder.

He could make out two, no three figures against the glare, bowed over him; and again, he heard Sabato's voice. "Now, hand me the heart." Something was held over Aeren's abdomen, and the Apothecary grabbed it and lowered it down _._ Aeren felt something, like a tiny distant voice heard through the cacophony of pain that engulfed his entire being; something touching his innards, pushing slightly as if to make room.

* * *

He woke a few more times to the same impression: the figures standing over him, surrounded by a halo of white light, while he was lying there, unable to move, and feeling like the pain was slowly eroding his body. It felt like an eternity to him, his perception reduced to this seemingly unchanging vision and the all-consuming pain, that had long since burned any conscious thought from his mind.

In the times when he wasn't fully awake, he was once more haunted by nightmares; this time, thick pink worms were wiggling through his body, causing his skin to ripple when they moved under it, and eventually breaking through, bending to and fro like giant, boneless fingers. There were also the screams that he heard, or thought he heard. Terrible they were, like coming from a creature forever lost to joy.

* * *

Eventually the vision _did_ change. The brightness vanished, and cool twilight took it's place. That, at least, was a small relief, although he was barely aware of it. At times he had the impression he was seeing a face, but he didn't recognize it; nor could he clearly distinguish it's features. There were sounds, too, and like the shade comforted his eyes, they somehow seemed intent to be a balm for his soul; but it wasn't enough.

He wanted to die then, although of course he was incapable of fully forming the thought; this desire was born deep on the lowest level of his being, where emotions and dreams alone prevail. It was also this core of him that tried to commune this wish to whatever else there was outside of him. Alas, language as can be produced in these nether realms is hard to understand for the waking world. And so, he continued to suffer, to burn, entombed in this hell that was the only thing he could remember now.

* * *

A gray ceiling was what greeted him when his mind finally returned. It took him a while to realize that he was awake. _I'm alive_ , he thought. _I'm alive_. And then: _Kill me_. _Kill me. KILL ME_! He tried to move his lips, to force the word out of his throat. It hurt; no surprise there. Eventually, he managed to produce a faint croak.

"Hey, are you awake?" The noise came from his right. He looked in the direction; _that_ hurt, too. Someone was standing there. He could see a face, gently curved, brown eyes at the center, and framed by straight, brown hair. _Long_ hair. It took him a few seconds to assemble the pieces in his mind. _A girl_ , he thought. _I remember such a thing_. And he just stared at it, this _thing_ , that didn't seem to belong in his world that was built from pain alone, and where pleasant things had no place. But he _remembered_ ; it was a part of a life long past and, until now, forgotten. A life that had known _soft_ things, like the one he was gaping at now. It, no wait, _she_ frowned. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Aeren knew better than to try to nod, and, working through his reluctance, set his vocal apparatus in motion again. "Yeah." He was still staring; in this moment, this girl seemed to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he felt overwhelming joy to be given this moment of respite from his suffering, this ray of light after the sheer infinite series of horrors. Tears of joy began streaking down his cheek. But in the same moment, he noticed something was wrong with his vision; he couldn't see from his left eye. Pleasantly surprised that moving his left hand wasn't in fact another torturous act, only somewhat arduous, he cautiously touched the left side of his face, which was still pulsing with pain. He felt the cloth of a bandage, which was, all things considered, not too surprising.

The girl bit her lower lip, looking uncomfortable. "Look, I should really go fetch someone." And with that, she got up from her chair and hastily left the room.

"Wait!" Aeren croaked after her, but she paid him no heed. Somewhat disappointed to be left alone again so quickly, he continued to examine his face, gently moving his fingers over his cheek. He found ridges and grooves; those felt like they _definitely_ didn't belong there. _Guess I'm looking like I feel_. Then he moved up, towards his eye. But where he expected the bulge of his eyeball, there was only the light resistance of the fabric; and behind that, nothing. Just a hollow. And _that_ was the moment his memories came rushing back to him. He remembered everything, down to his last fight in the pit and the woman that had somehow _changed_. The sheer memory of it made him groan: that abominable grimace, the cold, the _horror_. She attacking him with her claws. _My eye_ , he thought. _She took out my fucking eye_. _What the hell was she?_

He kept prodding the bandage, oddly fascinated by the empty space it covered. In another time, in another place, the realization of having lost his eye would have been a shock to him; but here, now, it was just another rock on the mountain of torment crushing him.

 _Can't wait to hear what Errake will say when he learns that his chosen contender has lost one of his fucking eyes._ But then another memory came to him. _Wait, wait, he knows. He was there. What did he say? What was it? Something… something about ascension? My ascension begins now?_ And then he remembered where the pain in his chest came from. _They operated on me. They put_ something _into me_. _A heart? What the hell, I have a heart. And it seems to be working just fine, unfortunately. Does this have something to do with becoming a Space Marine? They didn't even give me a fucking anesthetic. They fucking operated on me while I was awake, more or less. But should this really surprise me? I guess not._

In this moment, the girl returned, Sabato in tow. Aeren trained his remaining eye on the apothecary. "Heya asshole." The Astartes was unimpressed. "Some greeting. What did I do, other than stitching you back together?"

"You operated on me. Put this _shit_ into me, without even a fucking anesthetic."

"This 'shit' as you call it is part of the gene-seed. It is what will turn you into an Astartes, in time. As for the anesthetic: these operations are always conducted while the aspirant is awake. It's part of the weeding process."

"Figures. I'm surprised Errake still wants me to become a marine. I lost, after all."

"Given the somewhat unusual circumstances, he decided to cut you some slack."  
Aeren raised his eyebrow. "He does that?" Sabato nodded. "Not often, mind you."

The boy collected his thoughts. "That woman… what happened there? I've never seen anything like that. Something so… horrible."

The marine shook his head. "Ask the old man. I think he's eager to continue your education, now that you're bed-stricken. It's probably to his advantage you won't be able to run away."

"Doesn't he mind that I lost an eye?"

Sabato made a dismissive gesture. "Never mind that. We'll fix you up with a prosthetic. You'll have your depth perception back in no time."

"Just like that huh. So how long will I have to stay in bed?"

"At least two more weeks."

"Fuckin' A." Aeren turned to the girl, who was standing by his side again, not involved in much that had been talked about. "So what's your story?"

She shrugged. "I am to be your nurse, apparently. Name's Jessy. Well, Jessyca actually, but everyone just calls me Jessy."

"I'm Aeren."

"Yeah, I know."

"Are you a slave?"

She cast a sidelong glance at Sabato, then shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"You guess?" She frowned. "Look, this shit is still new for me, O.K.? Some time ago, I was still happily at home in Macharius. I had a job, family, and friends. Then one day, _your_ friends here show up and everyone just dies or gets shoved into a ship. Then this asshole Cortez shows up and makes a big speech about how we're all worthless and how the Imperium shits on us. Then they take away our clothes and more people get beaten up and killed. I spent weeks in that fucking hold, working my ass off for clothing privileges and food privileges and water privileges, and hoping I don't have to fend off some asshole who tries to rape me today. So yeah, I guess I _am_ a fucking slave."

Aeren had difficulties processing all that he had heard. "I'm sorry."

Jessyca grunted. "I don't need your pity."

Now Sabato spoke again, raising an eyebrow. "Careful, girl. That boy owns you now."

She made a defiant face, and for a few moments it looked like she was about to give them both a piece of her mind about that. But finally, she swallowed whatever spiteful answer was on her tongue. "Fine. Whatever."

"Good." Sabato nodded. "You can sleep here while Aeren recuperates. There's a cot you can use."

"Thanks."

Sabato turned to leave. "All right, I'm off then. You can pick up something to eat in the canteen later."

And then they were alone. Aeren felt elated: here was someone who was not only a fellow survivor of Ocallus, but also, and more importantly, someone close to his own age; Jessyca looked like she was only a few years older than him. After everything he had gone through, he found he was bursting with curiosity and the need for a normal conversation.

"So," he began, but Jessyca raised a hand. "Wait. There is one thing we need to talk about first." She passed his bed, over to the left. He turned his head, although the left side of his face sent lightning bolts of protest to his brain. Jessyca moved into an unlit area of the sick bay, behind a screen, and he heard her talk quietly. Then she returned. By her side, clinging to her hand, was a little girl. They came to stand a meter before Aeren's bed. Aeren looked at the new addition to her group. The girl might have been three years old. She looked shy, standing half hidden behind Jessyca, her one visible eye cautiously scanning Aeren.

"This is Ada. I found her in Macharius, alone, on the day of the invasion. She's been with me since." Jessyca's face was now pleading, desperate. "Listen, I'll do whatever you want, but you have to allow me to take care of her. That's all I ask of you."

Aeren was dumbfounded. "Yeah, I mean sure, no problem." Jessyca relaxed, looking more at ease. "Thank you." The boy shook his head, ignoring the new peak of pain that created.

"Listen, I don't care for this whole slave thing. If it was up to me you could just leave, and go wherever you want. That is obviously not an option. Still, I don't want a slave. But perhaps we could become friends?"

Jessyca tilted her head, weighing his words. "Yeah. Perhaps."

Aeren looked at Ada. "Cool with you too?" But the little girl turned away, hiding her face behind Jessyca's thigh.

"She doesn't talk," Jessyca said, gently stroking the girl's brown locks. "Hasn't since I met her."

"How do you know her name then?" The older girl looked to the side, embarrassed. "I don't actually. I just call her Ada. It was my granny's name. I mean, I couldn't just keep calling her 'little girl' you know?"

Aeren groaned internally. Once more the futility of it all struck him; the violence, and the misery it visited on people. His own pain suddenly didn't seem too terrible anymore.

"Ada. Well, why not? It's as good a name as any."

He pondered for a moment, then looked at Jessyca again. "So, how did you end up my 'nurse' anyway?"

She sat down on the far end of the bed, placing Ada next to her.

"It was this Endymion guy. He came down to the hold, looked like he was searching for something. Or someone. Come to think of it, he seemed more interested in Ada than in myself. But I told him: 'where she goes, I go.' And that was O.K. with him. Hell, once he considered it, he seemed downright enthusiastic about taking me as well."

"I see." Aeren couldn't make heads or tails of this.

The girl's eyes meanwhile were gleaming. "What's his deal anyway? I mean, he is like… wow. Seems awfully out of place on this crate."

Aeren stared at her. "Oh. Oooh. I _see_."

Jessyca blushed. "What? _What_? Oh, you _jerk_!" And she playfully slapped him on the leg; both of them started laughing. Aeren was immediately hit by a wall of agony that brought tears to his eyes. "Ahh, fuck!"

Jessyca jumped from the bed, still laughing. "Oh fuck!" she cried. "You've opened your wounds again!" Ada had followed her, not wanting to leave her side even for a moment.

Aeren was seeing stars, racked by pain that had driven the laughter out of him. "Aaaah fuck."

The girl had fetched some medical supplies and, with a grin, set to work on Aeren's face.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked.

"Sure. I've been doing this for a whole week after all."

"A whole _week_?"

She removed the cloth from Aeren's face, and, moving her hand in a wide arc around Ada, she dropped it on the floor. "Careful sweetie." Then she turned her attention back to the boy.

"Yeah. And let me tell you, you look like _shit._ "

"Gee, thanks. Describes very well how I feel though."

Aeren breathed slowly and deeply, trying to quench the fireworks still going off in his face and chest.

Eventually, Jessyca was finished and looked at her handiwork, a content expression on her face.

"Better. How in the Emperor's name did you end up in this pitiful state anyway?"

"Do you want the long version or the short one?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, have any grand plans for today?"

Aeren sighed. "All right then. It began of course back on Ocallus, on the day of the attack…"

* * *

Endymion found Errake in his study, and put his hands on the backrest of the chair before the great nalwood desk.

The lord looked up from his his reading. "So. Our young neophyte has awoken, and his body seems to have adjusted well to the gene-seed so far. And you found something to distract his feeble mind a little. Well done. Though I'm not so sure about the older girl. She might become a problem if she takes up too much of his attention."

"If you're worried that he'll be running around with a massive erection from now on, rest assured. He's had the _biscopea_ in his body for almost a week now. His _carnal urges_ will disappear soon enough, if they haven't already. It's sad, really."

"It's good, because it'll allow us to direct his energy towards more productive things. It is time his training started in earnest."

Endymion shrugged. "Anyway, having some company will only help his recovery along, if anything."

Errake put his elbows on the table, folding his massive hands before his mouth. "Either way, we'll make good use of the time he's bed-ridden. There is still much he has to learn."

Endymion smiled. "At least we won't have to move him if he throws a fit again."

"If he throws a fit again, _I_ 'll throw him out of the next airlock."

Endymion threw his head back and laughed; and with that, he took his leave.

* * *

 _AN: I'm starting to wonder if I'm a sadist, with all the abuse I heap on Aeren. Or, considering we partake in his torments first hand, maybe a masochist? Anyway, new characters! I'm feeling the "cute mute kid" is a bit of a cheap device, but she is just what Endymion was looking for. But for now, Jessy steals all her thunder; and at this point I have no idea how things will develop between the three youngsters._

 _Also, starting now, I'll name the chapters. I'll probably go back and name the old ones too. Hopefully I'll be able to find names that are appropriately pretentious, lol.  
_

 _Reviews:_

 **Guest** _: Aeren isn't a psyker; the d_ _a_ _emon manifested itself in Liz. More on that in the next chap_ _t_ _er._

 **Lost Guy** _: Glad you like it, and your review is much appreciated!_

* * *

 _As always, let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!_


	12. YSKTA

XII: YSKTA

"And then he said that the Emperor is just a really powerful witch."

Jessyca gasped, and her eyes went wide. "Impossible!"

"That's what I said."

"This is bullshit. None of this makes any sense. I mean, how could he even have been there? The crusade was like thousands of years of ago, right?"

"Yeah. But you should've seen him. He was spaced out. He's _never_ spaced out. To hear him talk about the Emperor was awe-inspiring."

"So he's just a great actor. All he wants is that you join his little heretic club."

Aeren frowned and shook his head. "It's not that simple. I don't know how to say this; he doesn't actually seem to hate the Emperor. And he hasn't asked me to renounce him or anything either."

The girl looked deep into his eyes. "He's _manipulating_ you."

Aeren said nothing, but looked at the ceiling, frown still on his face.

"You aren't actually considering to join him, are you?"

"Look, I told you: it's _complicated_."

Jessyca threw her arms up in disbelief. " _Complicated_? They _invaded_ our home world. They killed millions of people, and enslaved the rest! Looks pretty fucking clear from where I'm standing."

"I don't expect you to understand."

With a noise of annoyance, Jessyca stood up from the bed and walked a few steps. Then she stopped, and turned on the spot, hands resting on her hips.

"I think I do. What was it that Sabato said? The stuff they put into you will turn you into an Astartes?"

Aeren didn't answer, but an uncomfortable feeling crept up on him.

"That's what this is all about, isn't it. He promised to make you an Astartes. And you said yes."

She shook her head. "You're ready to betray everything, your people, your faith, for some childish fantasy."

Aeren exploded. "THIS ISN'T A FUCKING JOKE! LOOK AT ME! I've just had major surgery without anesthetic after some madwoman ripped my eye out and almost killed me! You think I _enjoy_ this?"

Jessyca had been shocked by his outburst, and needed a few seconds to collect herself. "Then why do it?"

Aeren sunk back to his mattress. He was sweating. Lifting his body had been exhausting, and had stoked the fires of his pain. "Something Errake said. People don't count in this world, or most of them anyway. We're born, given a job, and do it until the day we die. No one gives a shit. But an Astartes has power. If I make it through, I can change things. Not for everyone of course, but for some. Make the world a bit better."

For a moment neither of them said anything. Then Jessyca spoke again. She had tears in her eyes. "You're wrong. People care when we die; friends, loved ones."

Aeren rolled his eyes, and his voice was full of poison when he answered. "Oh, right, that. Clearly I am mistaken then." Then his tone changed, became quiet and quivering; and his eyes welled up, too. "Fuck _loved ones_."

Jessyca came to him then. She took his hand, and after moment, leaned over and hugged him; as much as that was possible with him lying there. He put his free hand on her back, and for a while, they remained that way, sharing their pain and everything they had lost; finding comfort in the other's closeness.

When they finally parted, Jessy sniffled. "Look, I'm sorry. No matter what, we should stick together. We don't have anyone but us, after all. And Ada, of course." They both smiled through their tears then, and Jessyca turned and, pulling the little girl close, kissed her on the head.

"Not to ruin the moment," Aeren said, "but I could really use something to drink. Could you fetch something for me?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on, honey." Taking Ada's hand, Jessyca left the room.

Left to himself, Aeren's attention was once again forced to his aching body. _The next weeks are going to suck_. But still, it was good to have company.

Heavy steps drew his attention towards the door. Errake entered, and greeted Aeren with a nod.

"Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Aeren gave a little shrug. "Accordingly, I guess."

"Fair enough." He dropped into a heavy chair at the wall opposite to Aeren. He gave the boy a long, unreadable look. "I presume you have questions."

An image flashed before Aeren's eye; the woman's nightmarish grimace. The fear of the moment returned to him.

"Yeah, no kidding. What happened there, with that woman? My blood runs cold just thinking about it."

"She was possessed."

"Possessed?"

"Do you know of the Immaterium? They call it the Warp as well, or Empyrean."

Aeren shook his head. Errake shook his as well. "Of course not." He reclined in his chair, considering how to begin this lesson.

"The Warp is a realm parallel to our own, to the world we can see and touch. It isn't in a different place; it surrounds us even in this moment, although we cannot perceive it directly. Rather, it is another plane of existence."

Aeren gave a quizzical look. Errake raised his hands, holding them horizontally in front of his face, one width apart.

"Imagine a room. That room is the material world, our world; the world we're in right now. Now, underneath this room there is another one. You can't see it, and yet you know it's there. Sometimes you may hear voices in it, and if you break through the floor you can see it, and even enter it. That is the Warp."

In this moment, steps could be heard again. Jessyca returned, Ada in tow, with a mug and carafe in hand.

"I've found some water for you." She filled the mug and handed it to Aeren, and put the carafe next to his bed. She hadn't seen the Astartes, as he was sitting behind a corner in the same wall as the door. Aeren emptied the mug, then indicated in his direction. "That is Errake." She turned, and jumped a little, pulling Ada behind her. "My lord," she said, casting her eyes down.

"This is Jessyca, and Ada," Aeren introduced the two girls.

"I see." Errake's voice had a few icebergs in it.

Jessyca looked back to Aeren, wearing an uncomfortable expression. "Well, I guess we'll be back later." She turned to leave, but Aeren grabbed her wrist.

"No, please stay!" And, addressing Errake: "Can they?"

"If they're quiet."

Jessyca pulled up another chair, keeping some distance between it and the Marine, as if to make sure she wasn't seen as an intruder; she sat down, and pulled Ada onto her lap, all the while trying her best to become invisible.

When they had settled, Errake continued, completely ignoring them.

"Back to the topic. Now, while the Warp is separate from our world, it is still intricately connected to it; you see, it is the realm of thoughts, dreams and emotions. It sometimes called the Sea of Souls as well, and that is a very apt description."

"Everything we feel, everything we think, all our dreams, hopes and desires resonate in the warp. When large amounts of similar emotions gather in one place, they develop a kind life of their own; that is what we call a _daemon_. They are manifestations of the emotions that spawned them, and always hunger for more of the same kind of energy. Under certain circumstances, the veil that separates us from the warp becomes permeable, and they can come through; and when they do, they can take control of individuals, _possessing_ them. It allows them to walk this world and feed their insatiable hunger. When we are confronted with with such a being, it connects to us on the profoundest of levels. That is what you felt in the pit."

Aeren pondered what Errake had said. To think the same thing that had happened to the woman could happen to everyone was a terrifying thought. "And what happens to the people that become possessed? Can they be freed again?"

"No." Errake's answer cut through the air like an executioner's ax. "Having a foreign will taking control of them, one that is so raw and malevolent, usually drives them insane; eventually their souls are consumed, and often their bodies, too."

"There are untold numbers of daemons, but there are four of special prominence; these we call the dark gods. Their names are Khorne, Tzeentch, Slaanesh and Nurgle."

Aeren's eyes went wide. "Khorne! That's what Orthan and the others were talking about!"

Errake nodded. "Yes. It is the entity associated with war, combat, rage, and above all, bloodshed. They think calling upon it will grant them strength in battle."

"And doesn't it?"

"It may, but with daemons and the warp, nothing is ever certain. As I have said, the Immaterium is the domain of souls and emotions; reason and logic have no place there. The laws by which it is governed cannot be grasped by a mortal mind, and only madmen and blessed lunatics may even catch a glimpse of them. It is the realm of _Chaos_."

Aeren frowned. "Chaos. Does that mean you and the others serve those daemons?"

"There are many that do serve them; worship them even. _I_ serve no one. But in this world, sooner or later, one will have to deal with them, in some way or another. They have their uses, on occasion, and there are ways to coax them a little. But as I said, nothing about them can be certain, and I wouldn't rely on them. The one that sent me to conquer your homeworld stands somewhere in the middle; he doesn't serve them outright, but he has a pact with them, and they have endowed him with great power. Through it, they must have influence over him as well, but how far it reaches, I cannot say."

Aeren was still frowning. "You said you serve no one. And yet you destroyed my world for this guy. Who is he, anyway?"

"His name is Ezekyle Abaddon. He was a captain in my legion, once; but he has risen above that a long time ago. These days, he styles himself _Warmaster_ , and has gathered a great host of my brothers under his banner. As for why I followed his order - remember what I said about humility? That sometimes, you have to kneel in order to survive? This time, it was my turn. But I bear little respect for Abaddon, and would just as readily stab him in the back, given a chance. I care not for his schemes, or his conquests, or his foolish quest for vengeance for that matter; his ambition and rage are not my own."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "A quest for vengeance?"

"You will understand once you learn more about the Great Crusade."

Once again, Aeren struggled to integrate all that he was learning. "And does the Imperium know all of this? About the warp, and the daemons, and this Abaddon fellow?"

"Some of them do. But they guard this knowledge with jealousy. They think, if the people don't learn of these things they won't stray from their assigned path; that ignorance will somehow shield them from temptation. It's a shortsighted notion; but just one of many the Imperium is guilty of."

Anger took hold of Aeren again, and he bared his teeth. "Assholes. To keep all this from us… to let us live like this, not knowing anything about the world… but I guess it fits with the things you told me earlier." He cast a glance in Jessyca's direction, who answered with a frown.

Aeren sighed. "All right. Tell me more. I want to know everything."

* * *

 _AN: Not sure I like this one all that much. But it was an exhausting week and I feel like I have a bit of a cold in me._

 _The lack of ze reviews makes me think you guys found the last chapter kind of meh - is that true?  
_

 _Always glad to hear from you. And as always, thanks for reading._


	13. YSKTA 2

XIII: YSKTA 2

"Very well." Errake stretched out his legs, assuming a more comfortable position. "I believe we were talking about the Great Crusade before we were… interrupted."

Aeren blushed a little; to think he had fainted simply because of being told something felt embarrassing to him now. How foolish he had been.

"Yeah, we were talking about the how Emperor is really a psyker." Again, he looked over to Jessyca; this time, with a hint of triumph on his face. The girl gave him a soundless snarl.

"Indeed. So Luna was conquered; and with that the whole galaxy opened up before us, and we were eager to show our mettle; we were warriors after all."

"The crusade started in earnest; and what a time it was to be alive. In the beginning, we thought ourselves unstoppable; and true enough, in the first years nothing could stand in our way, at least not for long. Like a cleansing fire we swept through system after system and liberated one world after the next. Time flew by, but we hardly noticed it; it doesn't weigh heavily on our kind. We were walking through a dream, and reveled in the glory of it all: the battles, the parades, and of course the splendor of Emperor and the Primarchs, who were joining us one by one."

Errake face's was once more taking on an enraptured expression.

"Words cannot do it justice; thousands of armored warriors standing in rank and file, banners flying, and, above it all, the Emperor and his sons, standing united in triumph."

The old Astartes shook his head.

"In my years I have seen many marvelous things; but nothing compares to those moments in my youth, when I screamed my throat sore in adoration for _them_ , the masters of mankind. And I don't think any man can claim to have witnessed greater magnificence."

"For a time we believed it would go on like this forever; or perhaps we just wanted to believe it. Alas, every dream must come to an end. As the crusade pressed on, we sometimes caught glimpses of those that followed in the wake of our victories: farmers, merchants, administrators, craftsmen; _mundanes_. In the beginning, the irony amused us: here we were, the pinnacle of mankind, fighting for these little people that were so weak, so far beneath us. I think it was this juxtaposition that sparked the initial discussions about our place in the grand scheme of things. How could _they_ prove worthy of what we were giving them? And more, what would happen once the Crusade came to it's end? Once all the xenos were vanquished, and all the worlds in the galaxy were returned into the fold, what would there be left for _us_? How could we possibly _live_ among them? The idea of us becoming farmers or merchants, or even peacekeepers was absurd. The lust for battle is ingrained into all of us, it is a fundamental part of our being. So what would we fight if there was nothing left to fight?"

"Originally, these musings were just idle pastimes, just another topic that came up in these social gatherings we indulged ourselves in. But the longer we chewed on these questions, the more we realized we couldn't answer them. In time, we came to understand that we were helping to create a world that would have little need for us; that our final triumph would also herald our downfall."

"Although these were serious considerations, they didn't bother us all that much at first. The Crusade was in full swing, and there was always a battle to fight, always a campaign to occupy our minds; and it didn't look like that would change anytime soon."

"The first real blow came when the Emperor decided to return to Terra to take the reins of his growing empire and to help build his new administration. Our Primarch Horus was appointed Warmaster, and the legion was henceforth called the 'Sons of Horus'; and although we lauded our lord for the great honor he had received, we weren't as joyful as we should have been, or could have been; instead we were suddenly confronted with the fact that the _status_ _quo_ had been thoroughly abolished; a reminder that the crusade, too, would not continue forever. That dampened the mood in the legions somewhat, but at that point, nobody would have thought to complain; never mind starting a full blown insurrection. On the contrary, we threw ourselves into battle with even greater zeal, to prove ourselves to the Primarchs and the Warmaster, to show them our unwavering devotion. In a way, the Emperor's absence brought us even closer together, and for a while, things seemed to continue without changing further, and we were tempted into thinking that everything would turn out alright. We were fools."

"It was on a black day some years later that Horus was mortally wounded, and things started to turn into shit for real. Our morale received a huge blow; we were devastated. We had just finished a campaign, so there were no battles to be had, and for the first time, we felt a cold emptiness enter our hearts; and into that emptiness came the forces of Chaos."

"As far as I know, it started in the Word Bearers legion, with Lorgar and his ilk; I think they were already worshiping the dark gods at this point, though it was all still very subdued. But Lorgar healed Horus with chaos sorcery, and that was the stone that started the avalanche; for the first time, we became fully aware of this hitherto hidden power, and it turned out to be a foe we were ill equipped to fight. It took hold in our souls, nurtured our hidden doubts, made them grow; and of course, we couldn't ignore our Warmaster, who was also beginning to stray from his ordained path. After the initial incident, events spiraled out of control very quickly, and in the end Horus turned on the Imperium, and half the Primarchs and their legions with him.

This was our darkest hour, and I was swept along in this maelstrom along with the rest of my legion. We were the Sons of Horus after all; what could we do but follow our Primarch? It became the greatest war this galaxy had ever seen, Astartes versus Astartes. I don't remember everything of these bloody years; they are buried beneath the ages that followed them. Many of my kin fell to corruption and madness in those days, either broken by their own betrayal, or poisoned by the whispers of their new masters at whose feet they had thrown themselves. Or perhaps fighting their own brethren held inconceivable horror for them, and oblivious insanity was the only refuge they could find. Either way, it was slaughter, _s_ laughter that carried us through this inferno, into the very heart of the Imperium itself, were we sought to cast down the Emperor and bring his works to ruin; billions lost their life, many Astartes and most of the Primarchs among them."

Errake leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, as if the weight of his memories was pulling him down. He rubbed his hands.

"In the end, we weren't successful in our endeavor, although we made it all the way to the gates of Terra. It was there that Horus finally found defeat and death at the hands of the Emperor, and with that, our strength crumbled, and the forces of Chaos, those great and terrible entities, which we had deemed invincible, fled in terror before the Emperor's fury. Most of our brethren followed their dark masters into exile, but some of us found that a veil had been lifted from their eyes, and we were appalled when we saw how low the daemons had brought us; how our minds had been infected and clouded by them. And so, bereft of any worthy master, we swore never to bend the knee again, neither to them, nor to the _emperor of the weak_. And we set out to seek our own fortunes among the stars."

The hunched Marine paused at this point as if to lend his next, final revelation the gravity it deserved. "That was ten thousand years ago."

He was watching Aeren intently. Was there weariness in his eyes? Or regret? Aeren couldn't tell. For a while, nobody said anything.

Eventually, Aeren worked his mouth, which had become dry again. "So are you… are Astartes immortal?"

"For all intents and purposes. I've never heard of an Astartes dying of old age; it's a rather grotesque idea if I'm honest. Obviously we can still be slain. Curious, to know that this is the way one will find death. How do you feel about that?"

Aeren exhaled and shook his head. "A terrible fate. To know that, when you die, it will be on a battlefield." He shrugged, and his face became unconcerned. "But then again, it's hardly worse than what the Imperium has to offer."

"True. You'll learn to live with it soon enough."

There was another pause. Aeren went through what he had learned again.

"So Abaddon wants to take revenge for the death of Horus?"

"I understand he has abandoned up his veneration of Horus a long time ago; now it is just between him and whatever is left of the Emperor."

"What's left of him? What is that supposed to mean?"

"On the day he slew Horus, the Emperor himself was mortally wounded. Apparently the fabulous Golden Throne is nothing more than an elaborate life support system, and the Emperor's life is hanging by a thread."

Jessyca grunted; but Aeren put his head back and laughed. It was an eerie, joyless sound; manic and full of desperation. He laughed, tears of pain and anguish flowing like a river from his remaining eye, until he thought his body was going to rupture, at which point his laughter ebbed away, leaving him panting and shaking.

"Of course. Why am I even surprised? This is perfect. Just perfect. And it neatly explains why the Ecclesiarchy can tell people whatever the hell they want. It is all a lie, the whole fucking Imperium."

Errake stood up. "I think that's enough excitement for one day, and it's getting late. Tomorrow I'll have books brought to you; you won't be idle while recovering. I will check on you, and I am expecting progress. Good night."

After the Astartes had left, silence fell over the apothecarium. Aeren felt fatigue wash over him, and was ready to fall asleep; if the pain would even allow that. Jessyca had prepared the cot for Ada and herself; it was sized for an Astartes, so they would both fit on it easily. Then she and the little girl knelt next to it, and a prayer reached Aeren's ears, carried by her soft voice. He turned his head to them, annoyance rising in him.

"What are you doing?" She didn't answer him. "Hey, will you talk me?"

She turned around. "What is your fucking problem?" she spat.

"What. Are. You. Doing? How can you still be praying after everything you've heard?"

"What I _heard_ were a bunch of lies from the mouth of a heretic. I'm not believing a word he says."

"How can you say that? Everything he said makes perfect sense. He even explained how he could've been in the crusade and still be alive."

She hissed. "So? He just has thought this story through really well. He says he's immortal? Don't make me laugh."

"And now what? You'll just pretend nothing happened and cling to these lies? That's pathetic."

"Pfft. So what? Not as pathetic as someone who throws his loyalty away at the drop of a hat."

It took Aeren a moment to came up with an answer for that. When he did, the anger had left him. "There is nothing left to be loyal to."

Jessyca was still miffed. "If you say so. But don't think for a moment that _this_ is any better."

Aeren didn't answer. This wasn't going anywhere, and he just wanted to sleep now. He heard the girl continuing her prayer, and after a few minutes she and Ada laid down on the cot, snuggling in under their blanket.

"Good night," he said into the gloom. For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer him, but then she did, although her voice was somewhat cold.

"Good night."

Aeren fell asleep.

* * *

 _AN: A bit of Errake's perspective on the whole business. As a matter of fact, this tract was the original core idea for this story. I always thought the idea of simply being corrupted was a bit too simple. I think the Horus Heresy novels went in the same directions with their explanations, but the last I read of them was "_ Descent of Angels _" and that was_ years _ago.  
_

 _The good news is, there probably won't be any more chapters retelling known fluff. The bad news is, I have only a vague idea on how to continue this thing. I'm not going to tell all of Aeren's story, that would take forever. I'll try to bring this story to a somewhat satisfying end, and I am considering telling more of him in a series of sequels. But as of now, nothing is decided. I'll take it as it comes._

 _Oh, and that bit about the 'emperor of the weak'? That said 'emperor of the_ week _' originally; I found that hilarious._

 _Reviews! Or rather, review!_

 **drSpliff** _: I agree that the pace is currently very slow, but I think these are important moments. And sorry to disappoint you, but I had to include some stuff about the Great Crusade; as I said, I wanted to show it from Errake's perspective, and especially some sort of explanation how the Horus Heresy could eventually come to pass. But at least I kept it short enough, I think?  
_

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!  
_


	14. Onward

XIV: Onward

The face of Abaddon the Despoiler hovered above him like a semi-transparent moon, enlarged to gigantic dimensions by the holographic projection. Before it, in a solitary circle of light, Errake was kneeling, clad in full armor, only the horned helm tucked in the crook of his left arm. His surroundings lay in darkness.

"Warmaster."

"Captain Errake." Even filtering through the transmission, Abaddon's voice bespoke great power. It was deep, and like Errake's it had been ruined by some calamity, reducing it to a raspy growl. But in addition to it's tremendous physical presence, there was also a more ethereal quality to it, like a wafting of icy, eldritch winds that betrayed his otherworldly alliances.

"Let me first express my satisfaction with your recent assignment. I was pleased to see that your cunning has not diminished in the years of your hiding."

"Thank you, my lord."

"And now I have a new task for you, another world to conquer: Mahamat, in the same sector as Ocallus."

"I remember the name from the star charts."

"Mostly agriculture, and some industry. No prestigious target either, but fitting for a disloyal soldier and his degenerate band of misfits, wouldn't you agree?"

"As you say, my lord."

"You will soon receive the details on the theater. Bring me this world, and I will consider forgiving your insubordination."

"It will be done."

Abaddon's dismissive glare remained on Errake for a moment longer. Although nothing was said, Errake could guess the Warmaster's mind. He remembered their previous encounter, some four months earlier; back then, they had met in person on the _Vengeful Spirit_ , Abaddon's flagship. The Warmaster had 'welcomed' Errake back into the legion, and the reinstated captain had received the first assignment of his new position. In the end, Abaddon had left him with a warning: _Do not think to run from me again._ _I_ will _find you,_ _no matter_ _where you hide, and I will hunt you down and feed you to the abyss._

"See to it." The hologram flickered and vanished.

Errake rose, and was joined by Endymion who had kept out of sight.

"Isn't he a charmer."

"His power absolves him of the need for courtesy."

"What do you make of this?"

Errake turned and took his place at the head of the massive table of dark, polished wood that formed the centerpiece of the room.

"He wants to punish me some more. He thinks he humiliates me with this assignment."

He tapped his fingers. "But that isn't all there is to it. Mahamat is a backwater." Pressing a hidden button brought up another hologram, this time floating above the table. It was a star map. The east was dominated by a humongous nebula in red, orange and purple: the _Eye of Terror_. Errake gestured, and the picture zoomed in onto a star, and then, a planet. An overlay of text appeared and displayed some basic facts. Errake shook his head.

"As he said, there is some industry, but mostly agriculture; neither are useless, but also not something that would be in short supply for him. By itself, the planet has little value."

"So you're saying it's only relevant in the context of the surrounding area."

"Yes."

Endymion made a wiping gesture, and the view moved quite a bit southwards, and came to rest on another planet. "And looking at this particular region of space, it isn't too hard to guess what he's after."

Errake nodded. Next to the planet, there was a symbol: a white skull, framed on either side by stylized columns and a triangular roof on top.

"He's set his eyes on Cadia."

Endymion whistled. "He's going to need quite the army for that. Once the Imperials realize what's up, they will send everything they can possibly spare."

Errake shook his head. "Not _an_ army; _all_ the armies. He is preparing another Black Crusade."

* * *

Time flew by. Aeren spent the time reading, as Errake had ordered: math, physics, biology, and most of all, history. The girls stayed with him, and Jessyca used the books to try and teach Ada to read. Although the little girl still didn't speak, she seemed happy enough; she smiled a lot and followed everything that was said with big, attentive eyes. The mood between the three of them was cheerful enough; only once, early on, it turned sour. Aeren had found a passage describing the Emperor's ascension to the Golden Throne and it's life-supporting purpose; but when he began to read it out loud, Jessyca interrupted him crossly. He tried to convince her to listen, but she was having none of that; before long their exchange had become heated and vicious again, and when they were finally done, they didn't talk for several hours. After this incident, the topic of faith wasn't brought up again for quite some time. Aeren thought that was probably for the best.

In the following days, Aeren devoured the books that were brought to him. He felt he had been sitting in a pit of ignorance for his entire life, and was only now realizing that fact for the first time. But climbing out seemed a futile endeavor: the more he learned, the more he understood how little he actually knew of the world.

It was with some malicious glee that he noticed that many of the tomes bore inquisitorial seals, and were marked with varying degrees of nondisclosure; the fruit of knowledge was made all the sweeter by being forbidden.

When he wasn't reading, Aeren was eating ridiculous amounts of food; he easily consumed twice as much as both of his companions _together,_ and with every meal. Once, Jessyca shook her head.

"Damn boy, were are you putting all that stuff?"

"In the bedpan, I guess," the boy smirked with his mouth full. In the beginning, he had felt very uncomfortable about having to rely on the girl for the more intimate aspects of his immobility; but Jessyca had just shrugged. "You should've seen that cargo hold. Compared to that, this is nothing."

He asked her about her time in the hold then, but she didn't want to talk about it: "Just take my word for it, okay?" He knew better than to press the issue.

And so she took care of his excrements, and washed him every other day. It was a pleasant feeling, the sponge with the hot water moving over his body, while the clean scent of the soap charmed his nostrils. He would just lay there, eyes closed and smiling.

"Hey, just don't go weird on me now." He opened his eyes and looked at her, astonished.

"You know, don't get too excited." He took a moment to process. "You mean _sexually_? Eww."

Jessyca raised a mocking eyebrow. " _Eww_? I thought at your age you'd be pass that. In fact, I'm surprised you're not touching yourself half the time."

Aeren blushed deeply. "I, I don't…"

Jessyca laughed and gave him a friendly bop in the shoulder. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. And besides, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's natural."

Aeren said nothing. He just wanted this conversation to end and then forget it ever happened. Jessyca meanwhile continued her work, grinning ear to ear.

* * *

And like that, their days passed. Occasionally, memories flashed up in Aeren's mind; moments from his old life, that appeared more and more unreal to him. It was as if he was seeing through the eyes of another person; a stranger that he had very little in common with.

In the evenings, Errake would visit him, and sometimes Endymion. They discussed what Aeren was learning, and sometimes the Astartes would tell of their own experiences.

Thankful for the many distractions, Aeren noticed that the pain in his body was dulling; but already he dreaded the moment when Sabato would take his tools to him again.

One day, when Jessyca was changing the bandages that were still covering the left side of his face, he raised his hand. "Wait. I want to see. Do we have a mirror?" The girl found one. "You sure?" she asked, frowning. Aeren shrugged and nodded.

"I'll have to deal with this eventually. Might as well put it behind me." She gave him the mirror. Aeren exhaled, bracing himself for what he was about to see.

The face that appeared in the mirror's rectangle still shocked him, so strange was it. The upper left half was a ruined mess of fresh red and pink scar tissue framing the dark hole of his empty eye socket. Below it, a rough red ridge stretched from the corner of his mouth over his cheek, almost to the jawline. Black string was worming through his skin in many places. The right side, while in better shape, looked hardly more familiar; although it bore the old features, a profound change had taken place. It seemed worn and tired, as if Aeren's pain had become manifest, clawing itself into his expression and forever marking him.

"I hardly recognize myself." Aeren shook his head. "Throne. I wonder what I'll lose next." A knot formed in his throat. Jessyca put her hand on his and smiled sympathetically. "I'm here for you." A single sob shook Aeren then, and he felt his one eye well up a little. He gave her a smile as well, trying to be brave. "Thanks. That's very much appreciated." Composing himself, he pointed to two flat pieces of dark metal sitting on his left temple. "What's this?"

"Braces, for the eye prosthetic. They are screwed into your skull."

"I see." Aeren put down the mirror and took a deep breath. "Okay, finish up. I want to get some more reading done."

* * *

As prophesied, Sabato kept him confined to his bed for two more weeks. When he was finally allowed to get up, he found he was standing rather wobbly. The apothecary had him walk a few meters; Aeren had to concentrate to not fall down.

"Coordination has suffered a little," noted the Astartes. "Atrophy is minimal; you can thank the gene-seed for that. I have prepared a light exercise schedule for the rehabilitation phase." He handed Jessyca a dataslate. "I think in another two weeks you should be healed up enough that we can can fit the eye. And after that, barring further injury, we will meet again in nine months for the next stage of implantation."

Aeren winced. "I can't wait. But that'll be it, right?"

"No, there will be more after that. _Eleven_ more, to be precise."

The boy's eyes went wide. " _Eleven_? You're joking, right?"

"No."

Aeren groaned. "Emperor strike me down. No seriously, is it too late to chose death?"

"Yes."

* * *

They returned to Aeren's room. It was now dominated by a gigantic bed – Endymion had kept his promise. Aeren gave it the once-over. "Well, it's easily big enough for the three of us."

Jessyca eyed him with mock suspicion. "You aren't going to try anything, are you?"

Aeren frowned. "What do you mean?"

The girl just grinned. When it dawned on Aeren, he groaned and rolled his eyes. "Again with the sex stuff? I told you, I'm not interested in that."

She shook her head, sighing. "You're weird, kid. You know that?"

Aeren grunted. "You're one to talk."

* * *

The conference room of the Deimos was a splendorous affair: the ground was covered by a thick, intricately woven carpet, colored in hues of red and black; the high arched walls were decorated with many reliefs and engravings, and finished with bronze from about halfway up. There was an array of lamps along each of them, and their flickering flames breathed life into the icons and scenes, their metal reflections casting the room in an orange twilight.

All the Astartes of Errake's band were assembled, sitting at both sides of the long table. Their leader was standing at the head, hands resting on the dark, polished tabletop.

"Brothers," he began, his eyes scanning the faces of those before him. Forty-four there were of them in total; a considerable force, and each of them a hardened veteran. Most of the legions were represented; only Thousand Sons, Death Guard and Word Bearers were missing.

"You have heard it already. The Warmaster has given us a new task." Endymion, sitting to Errake's left, controlled the holographic display and brought up the info about Mahamat.

"We are conquering this pile of dirt." There were murmurs of discontent, but Errake raised his hands placatingly. "I know what you're thinking. This seems hardly a worthy objective. You can blame me for that, or rather, the chip that the Warmaster has on his shoulder." Some odd chuckles could be heard.

"Either way, it seems there's a little more going on. If we look some lightyears further to the south…" as before, the view shifted, and came to rest over Cadia. "…we see that out target is in the immediate neighborhood of the Cadian Gate and Cadia itself." At this point, the room fell silent, and a certain tension seemed to fill the air; everyone were giving him their undivided attention now.

"When I saw this, I was as intrigued as you are now. I ran my suspicions by some contacts who all but confirmed them: We are on the cusp of a new Black Crusade."

It was quiet now; one could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

"Originally, my plan was to slip from Abaddon's grasp as soon as possible. But this new information has made me reconsider. I know that a lot of you still hold grudges against the Imperium; Warp knows, nobody here loves it. And a Black Crusade is as good a chance as any for vengeance. So I'm not making this decision on my own."

He looked at them: some brooding, lost in thoughts, some seething with barely contained rage, stirred by memories of age-old betrayal.

"You all know what's at stake, and the possible payoffs. We'll vote. If the majority wants it, we'll join Abaddon for good, or at least for the time being. Everyone in favor, say aye."

"AYE!" The walls shook with the furious energy of the confirmation.

Errake nodded. "It is decided then. We're going to war."

* * *

 _AN: A little slow, this one, but things should pick up pace now; Aeren is out of bed and can_ _ _finally_ become a total badass. As if, lol. _

_Reviews:_

 **drSpliff** _ **:** Not sure I understand you correctly, you wrote 'Errake', but __it sounds as if you're talking about Aeren, which I'm assuming is what you intended. There will probably be killings of Imperials coming soon, though remember that while Aeren hates the Imperium now, he doesn't hate it's_ people _. So if anything, there is emotional conflict connected with said killings._

 **Guest _:_** _Ye_ _ah, I see where you're coming from, and at this point I feel that you're right: introducing Jessyca was perhaps a mistake. As you said, she doesn't really add anything to the story. At the time, she was needed as an emotional crutch for Aeren. I'm not sure what I'll do with her, but unless I can have her contribute something, I'll probably reduce her part._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!  
_


	15. Parlor Tricks

XV: Parlor Tricks

 _Four months later_.

Mahamat was, by imperial standards, a fairly unremarkable world. It orbited a giant red star together with three small moons. With initial settlement beginning some time in M39, it's population had reached a little over one and half billion people by the end of the forty-first millennium. The settlements had grown circular around the place of the first planetfall, close to it's equator; in fact, most people were still gathered in that region, leaving most of the planet unpopulated. They erected a few cities around welcoming spots, and in time these grew, some of them eventually touching edges with each other, forming larger, often very heterogeneous habitats. Th necessary space was created by clearing out large patches of the ancient, gigantic woods, that at the same time provided nourishment and building material. It were these fertile landscapes that also formed the basis for Mahamat's agriculture, that would prove so fruitful that some of it's product could be shipped off world for modest profits.

What made it unique were it's unusual day-and-night cycles. Having no tilt to it's axis, the planet didn't know seasons in the classical sense; but due to it's slow rotation, each of it's days and nights lasted about four standard months. The day would start cold and wet, and end with almost desert like weather; night, on the other hand, would grow continually colder, and usually ended with heavy snowfalls. This had had profound effects on the evolution of local flora and fauna, but also on the worldview and culture of the settlers: the people of Mahamat tended to view the world through various sets of strong dichotomies, seeing almost every aspect of life separated into two halves, as light and darkness were the two very different halves of the planet's cycle.

The days were the time for joy, the public, trade and life in general; but the night belonged to solemnity, family, ritual and death. Even their ruling class was divided according to this: There were night councils and day councils, and different people were tasked with the different challenges the two periods provided. Of course, the high nobility took all of this a little further still: it was custom for them to behave differently during day and night, sometimes to the point of a single individual being considered different persons. This was referred to as 'night-face' and 'day-face', and some even had different _names_ attached to their respective faces.

At the top of the social hierarchy stood a pair of regents, or _rajai._ While they were mostly of equal power, it shouldn't be too surprising that only one of them ruled at any given time, and the other took more of a consultatory role, until their parts would be reversed come the next transition between Light and Dark. It was common practice for them to be man and wife, at least one of them descended from the Old Dynasty; but there had been many examples of different arrangements throughout history.

Traditionally, imperial statutes demanded only one person to be Planetary Governor; however, habit in combination with time had long since eroded this rule, and save when dealing with high external dignitaries, the rajai shared their rule as equals.

In time, the separation of light and dark had also seeped into the local brand of the Imperial Creed: the priests projected this dualistic nature onto the Emperor himself, painting him sometimes benevolent, sometimes punishing; sometimes a figure of light, sometimes the grim embodiment of death.

Considering that 'days' were not a practical mid-size time unit, the people of Mahamat had instead adopted a system of 'shifts', each of which was six standard hours long; ten shifts formed a 'batch'. As with most imperial worlds, life on Mahamat was first and foremost dominated by work, and it made only sense to have that shape the measurements of time as well, to remind the industrious people of their topmost priority.

* * *

There were two defense platforms in Mahamat's orbit: Shield and Lance. Those serving on the platforms were somewhat removed from the duality that permeated life on the surface; because while the planet below was subject to the whims of day and night, the platforms were far above that. They followed the same orbit, separated by some thirty degrees, and completed their path around the planet once every eighteen hours.

It was lieutenant Rasulyah Ghitapam who had the bridge of Lance Station when the trouble started. She was alone, save for some servitors, which were quietly clicking and chattering at their stations. Hers was mostly an uneventful job. Few outsiders ever found their way to her homeworld, and by far the majority of them were traders; long known and welcome, familiar faces. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to travel the stars, and defend humanity with the Imperial Guard; but most of the time she was glad to have never seen a xeno, thank you very much. While her post wouldn't seem all that prestigious to an offworlder, it still was one of the more prominent to be had; if she didn't screw up, she'd probably end up in a comfy general's chair one day.

She was in a good mood that night. A trader was due to arrive any hour now, and that was more than happened during most shifts. So when a blip _did_ show up on her screen, she felt a little tingle of excitement. Tipping on the symbol opened an information overlay, which gradually filled as the sensors picked up further data. She frowned. The stats weren't at all what she had expected, or indeed hoped for: instead of a freighter it was an imperial cruiser, and it's communication hook identified it as the "Fhegan" - an unknown name. She didn't have much time to ponder over this though, as a new, blinking icon indicated that they were hailing her. Rasulyah stood up and straightened her uniform. She turned to one of the servitors and nodded. "Patch them through."

"Opening Channel," the lobotomized servant declared in it's mechanical monotone.

Before her, the large screen spanning the entire far wall filled with with the image of a person, sitting in what appeared to be the ship's command throne. Another surprise. She had expected a captain of the Imperial Navy, but the figure before her couldn't have been further removed from that: an older man, heavily tanned and clad in expensive fabrics and furs. He was hung with _a_ _lot_ of gold and jewelry. His hair, falling on his shoulders like a hood, was a little too black to convince Rasulyah that the color was authentic. The captain's wrinkly face was dominated by an ornate bionic eye, and he looked at Rasulyah with his lips curled into a predacious grin.

Before Rasulyeh had finished processing all that she was seeing, the stranger began to talk.

"Salutations, good woman. I am Emile Gorrovardi of the Rogue Trader Fhegan. Who am I addressing?"

Despite being caught off guard, Rasulyah remained outwardly calm, and acted with the professionalism expected of her rank and station.

"Greetings my lord. I am _lieutenant_ Rasulyah Ghitapam of the Mahamat Planetary Defense Force."

The Rogue Trader nodded slowly. "Well met, lieutenant. Now, I'm sure you're dying to know what we are doing in your system. You see, we're on an expedition that will lead us to the unexplored fringes beyond the Eye of Terror. We won't be seeing any more _civilization_ for several years, and so we're using any opportunity to put our feet into friendly soil. Your lovely planet would be our last stepping stone before the great darkness; I therefore formally request that my... brave companions and myself be allowed to land and be granted a few weeks of hospitality on your fine world."

Ghitapam felt a little overwhelmed by this tirade. There was something decidedly sinister about this man, and she didn't like that he had shown up _now_ , on her watch. Luckily, there were protocols for this kind of event, and they prevented her from having to deal with the situation alone. She allowed herself a slight frown. "I see. Forgive me, my lord, but this is highly irregular. We weren't informed about an expedition coming our way. I will have to check with Planetary Command."

Gorrovardi nodded again. "It isn't unexpected that you weren't noticed. We operate outside of the imperial bureaucracy. The only thing they have to with us is issuing the trade warrants; which of course I also possess. I'm sure there are agents of the Mechanicus on your world? They will be able to verify the document and confirm my identity."

"Very well. I will speak to my superiors. Meanwhile, you may approach – but no closer than a hundred thousand kilometers. Be aware that you will be fired upon if you come closer than that."

"Noted. I'll be waiting for your response. Gorrovardi out."

The screen turned black, and Rasulyah returned to her command chair, dropping heavily into it. She didn't like this. At all. "Shit." The servitors had nothing to say to that. "All right; open a channel to the surface."

* * *

 _A few hours later._

The Rajais' palace was located on the spurs of a small mountain range north of the capital. High up, opening to a vista of the surrounding peaks, there were a marble terrace and garden, where the two regents were having dinner: Agipor Sulemnar and his wife, Myridna. The giant evening sun, already gone half beyond the horizon, painted everything in shades of red. Despite the altitude and their exposed location, the temperature was pleasant, regulated by an almost invisible environmental shield around the terrace.

Agipor was a man in his late eighties, though juvenat treatments made him look more like fifty. He had the black hair of his ancestors, and kept a little gray on his temples for variation. Although fashion called for nobles' skin to be pale by day and dark by night, he preferred to keep it slightly tanned at all times, trying to be a bridge between the high and the low of society in this regard. His eyes, modified to account for the months-long brightness, were of a bright white, pupils contracted to tiny black dots. He possessed a certain handsomeness, but it was of a charming, non-threatening kind. He was clad in a plain white suit, having switched his uniform of office for something more comfortable.

Myridna was something of a contrast. Tall and slender, with sharp features and precise, often stern demeanor, she was more regal than her husband, and therefore somewhat less approachable and engaging. She shared her husband's dark hair, but her skin was white as alabaster; being a descendant of the Old Dynasty, she was subject to much stronger scrutiny by her peers, and this was a necessary tribute to her noble ancestry. She was wearing an unadorned purple dress, and around her neck there was a thin chain of black metal, holding a ruby the size of a coin.

They had eaten silently for some time. Agipor was watching his wife, who had been unusually taciturn and absent-minded; the raj knew her well enough to know that she was concerned. He also knew she would tell him about it in her own time, and so he decided to provide a topic of his own.

"There was a bit of exciting news today."

"Hmm?"

"We've received a missive from Lance Station. Apparently, we are being visited by a Rogue Trader."

Myridna froze in her movement and looked up; she was frowning. "When did they arrive?"

"Some six hours ago."

"So that is it." Her husband looked at her expectantly. "I'm having one of my premonitions."

"And you think it's connected to this man?"

"Yes. It began about six hours ago. The timing fits perfectly."

"And what do you feel?"

She shook her head.

"It's awful. You know I've had a lot of these inklings over the years. Only they never were this… oppressive. I fear something terrible will happen." Her eyes pierced him, full of anxiety. "Who is this Rogue Trader? What does he want?"

Agipor shrugged. "His name is Gorrovardi. As to what he wants: nothing, really. Just a little vacation for him and his staff, before they begin their journey. They are headed beyond the _Eye_."

Myridna gasped. "A bad omen if ever there was one. Where is he? Has he already landed?"

"No, not yet. Curious. You are second to warn me about him."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"The duty officer who first spoke to him described him as, and I quote: 'somehow sinister, more reminiscent of a pirate than a merchant.'"

She exhaled slowly. "So what are you going to do about him?"

He took a moment to answer. "I _already_ did something. I extended an official welcome and invited him to stay with us as a guest of honor for the duration of his visit."

She shot him an incredulous look. "You must be joking!"

Agipor shook his head. "You know what they say. 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.' If he indeed _is_ an enemy. Rogue Traders are an odd sort. Remember the last one that came to Mahamat? The one who only ever wore green clothes and spoke of himself in the third person? Maybe this one is just eccentric as well."

Myridna wasn't convinced. "That is a tremendous 'maybe'. And there is still my premonition; are you going to ignore that?"

"You've been wrong with these before, my dear; you know that."

She stared at him, unhappily. "But what if I'm _right_ this time?"

Agipor sighed, carefully putting his cutlery away. "And what would you have me do?"

"Send him some gifts and our best wishes, and send him on his way."

Her husband rubbed his hands and, placing his elbows on the table, folded them before his mouth.

"That would be _inconceivably_ rude, especially now, _after_ having invited him. For all we know, he is an imperial dignitary."

He could see his wife was on the point of protesting, but he raised a hand.

"I have already sent an inquiry to the Administratum, with a request to confirm his claims; until then, he and his retinue will be under constant surveillance. And so will his ship: if they so much as look in the direction of their weapons, the orbital platforms and defense lasers will dispose of them in the blink of an eye."

Myridna shook her head. "I don't find that reassuring. So what if it is rude to send him away? Who would care?"

Agipor gave her a stern look. " _I_ would. We get few enough visitors as it is; I welcome the opportunity to speak with an offworlder. And if he is a little odd, that'll only make the conversation more interesting. And frankly, I think all of us here could do with a little excitement. Imagine the stories he'll be able to tell!"

His wife didn't answer, but he could tell she was still very upset.

"Think about it: if he was a scoundrel, wouldn't he go out of his way to be as charming as possible?"

"Or maybe that is exactly what he _wants_ us to think."

"In that case he would be a man of great subtlety, and a very disciplined actor; either way, we'll take every precaution."

Now it was her turn to sigh. "Have it your way then. But I don't want him near the children."

"I doubt you'll be able to keep Anji away from _him_ ; you know how he adores Rogue Traders."

She thought about that for a moment. "We'll send him away then; him and Suthi both. They can spend a few days with Pran. They always enjoy visiting their big brother, and they would be with the Guard; I can't think of a safer place, except perhaps down in the safe rooms."

Agipor nodded slowly. "Very well. However, once the answer of the Administratum comes through, and it turns out he _is_ the genuine article, we'll send for them immediately. Deal?"

Myridna relaxed visibly, and gave him a thankful look. "That seems fair. And thank you for listening to me."

Her husband shook his head and smiled. "I'd be a fool to _completely_ disregard that nose of yours. Although you'll forgive me for hoping you're wrong."

The concern returned to her expression. "You and me both, beloved."

* * *

Some fourteen hours later, Gorrovardi's transport was descending onto the platform that had been reserved for him in Mahamat's small spaceport, placed at the edge of the planet's capital, Siyodha.

It was a massive freighter, bearing an imperial crest on the side. When it touched down under the thunderous roar of it's engines, it was still as high as a five-story building. Immediately, a gate in the circular wall around the platform opened, and five servants quickly rolled out a wide red carpet. At the same time, dozens of Soldiers in parade uniforms jogged out, forming a guard of honor along the emerging road of cloth.

Following the servants with their red roll was a man in flowing white robes. That was Unjul Rahebat, Master of Ceremony. He was wearing an unadorned beige fez, and his only jewelry was his ring of office. Alone his pale skin and white eyes betrayed his high standing.

Following him, considerably slower, was a Tech Priest; what could be seen of him under his red robe and hood was a chaotic fusion of flesh and metal implants, wires and tubes.

They reached the end of the carpet, and a broad ramp opened in the ship before them, offering a little insight into the behemoth's dimly lit belly. Steam was gushing out of valves and flowing around the ramp, and the heat of the engines, although powering down, was still enormous.

A handful of people appeared on the top of the ramp and, taking their time, began their descent. As they approached, Rahebat got a good view of them, and for a moment he thought he had been sent to the wrong platform; they were a wild looking troupe, no doubt.

At the front walked a man who wore enough gold and jewelry for two; that was Gorrovardi, looking even more impressive than on the picture Rahebat had been given. Even his clothing had gold embroidery, from his dark red shirt to his black longcoat and equally black leather pants. Around his midriff sat a massive belt of gold, engraved with intricate detail. His hair was straight, shiny and black. _He dyes it_ , Rahebat thought.

Next to him went a boy of perhaps fifteen years. Lean and muscular he was, and he too had a bionic eye, although his looked comparatively plain, as did his entire outfit – he was clad entirely in black. Rahebat could see that the left side of his face was heavily scarred, and it only added to his hard look.

The others weren't looking any less exotic. Most of them wore jewelry of some sorts, but none of them anywhere as much as their master.

The party was, to a man, heavily armed. The Rogue Trader had two gilded pistols on his sides; the boy had a hellgun slung over his shoulder, and a large knife was attached to his belt. The rest of the group carried various blades, clubs and guns.

Rahebat felt himself sweating, and not because of the heat of the evening sun; and he was pretty sure he felt the soldiers around him tense. Donning his most diplomatic smile, he stepped towards the arrivals.

"Welcome, my good lord, to Mahamat! I am Unjul Rahebat, Master of Ceremony, and I have been tasked to welcome you all on behalf of the Planetary Governor, Raj Agipor Sulemnar, and his lady wife, Raj Myridna Sulemnar."

The leader stepped forward, and offered his hand, grinning. "Good to be here, my man. I'm Emile Gorrovardi." Rahebat took the hand, and found himself drawn into a crushing embrace.

When he was released after what felt entirely too long, Gorrovardi pointed to the boy by his side. "This is my son, Aeren." The boy offered a grim nod.

"Welcome to you as well young lord what is that?"

Another of group of figures had materialized in the cavernous opening, and they were astoundingly even more threatening than their predecessors: six giants, clad in bright red power armor and carrying bolters.

Gorrovardi turned around, still grinning. " _That_? That are my Marines."

* * *

 _AN: Whew, this one was difficult, and a lot of work went into it. One big part was to figure out how this would go down, but the actual writing proved difficult as well. I am starting to use more scenery descriptions, but they are still unfamiliar and therefore may be a bit clunky. But I'm glad I finished this piece of work, and I am excited to see what will happen next!  
_

 _Reviews:_

 _Guest 1: Glad you enjoy it. Always good to get feedback, and if it's positive, all the better!_

 _Guest 2: Aww thank you, that really made my day! I Hope I can continue to impress ; D_

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


	16. Spiders

XVI: Spiders

High above Mahamat, Lance Station had completed another orbit. Lieutenant Ghitapam had waited anxiously for the _Fhegan_ to reappear on her augurs from the planet's shadow; she had half expected to find the cruiser wreaking havoc on the planet below with her lance batteries. But nothing like that had happened. The ship just hung there, seemingly motionless, like a shard of metal before the blackness of space, glowing red in the sun's light. Just to be sure, she ordered a scan; but nothing was out of the ordinary. Her reactor was still hot of course, but other than that, she might as well have been a tomb. No signals or unusual emissions of any kind could be detected.

A quick check with Planetary Command brought nothing too concerning either; apparently Gorrovardi had just landed with his retinue and was being welcomed by the Master of Ceremony. So Ghitapam sat on the bridge, begrudging the silence, and waited for something to happen.

When something _did_ happen, she actually startled a little; a quick glance to her small screen informed her that another ship had entered the system. "What is it now?" she whispered, tapping her finger on her armrest. Then the ship's name appeared on the display, and a wave of relief washed over her; it was the _Bountiful Harvest_ , the ship she had actually hoped to see when the _Fhegan_ had arrived.

"Finally some good news," she said to no one in particular. "Hail them."

"Opening channel" the servitor intoned.

For a few seconds, nothing happened; then, the large command screen filled with the face of Captain Lyranes: a middle-aged man, with a friendly face and calm demeanor. Ghitapam had known him for years; because of that she could immediately tell something was wrong. The captain looked tired, and his face, round and full of life when she had last seen him, seemed to have lost some of his vigor. Nonetheless, he was smiling.

"Lieutenant Ghitapam! Always a pleasure to see you."

"And you, captain Lyranes. Welcome back. How was your journey?"

"Calm and peaceful, just how we like it. And how are things here? I noticed you have another visitor."

"The _Fhegan_. She belongs to a Rogue Trader by the name of Gorrovardi."

The captain nodded. "Yes, I have heard a little about this ship and her master."

Ghitapam frowned. "You have? And what?"

"An odd man if the stories are true. Although he must actually be civil enough, his demeanor has been described as… sinister. Threatening, even."

The lieutenant exhaled, relaxing a little, and gave a little smile. "Yes, that were my thoughts exactly when I talked to him. And you say that's just his facade?"

"Yes. From what I heard, he is actually very genial once you get to know him a little."

"That is good to hear. I'll admit, he had me worried quite a bit."

"Glad I could alleviate your fears. Now, if that's all lieutenant, I would begin preparation of my landers – if you give me the clearance, of course."

"Actually captain, there is one more thing."

"Yes?"

"I couldn't help but notice that you look a little... tired. Is something wrong?"

"Ah... yes. You see, I have recently come down with a case of food poisoning. Nasty business. Turns out, part of our supplies were spoiled. Knocked me out for some time. I've only left the bed few hours ago, actually."

"And you're completely recovered? What about your crew? Do any of them need medical attention?"

"You're very accommodating, lieutenant. But we have the situation under control. We dumped the spoiled food, and the ones still affected are in the capable hands of Doctor Sung. They'll be up and about in no time. But thanks for your offer."

Ghitapam tapped her armrest. "This isn't anything infectious, is it? You know you are required to declare medical conditions that could pose a threat to the general population."

"Your thoroughness does you credit, lieutenant, but as I said, it was food poisoning, not a disease."

The lieutenant considered the situation for a moment. "I'm sorry captain, but I'll need you to to submit the _Bountiful Harvest_ to a biohazard check."

Lyranes looked like he was about to protest, but then he sighed resignedly. "I understand, lieutenant. You must do what you think is necessary. I will stand by and await your team."

"Thank your for your cooperation, captain. And I hope you don't take this personally."

The man on the screen shrugged and gave a sad smile. "I promise I won't. It'll ruin my timetable of course, but I understand you must do your duty; as must we all."

She still felt a bit bad about it. "I'll make it up to you. I'll be on the surface for Duskale. Perhaps you and your family would like to join me for dinner? I know a nice little restaurant that I'm sure you'd love."

"A generous offer. I will think about it and talk it over with my wife."

"Do that. And give my regards to her."

"I will. We'll talk again once the medicae are through with their check. Until then. Take care, lieutenant."

"You as well, captain. Ghitapam out."

The screen went black.

She reclined in her chair. For a moment, she reconsidered her decision about the biohazard check. But no, one couldn't be too careful; this was her responsibility after all. She felt elated; not only had the good captain alleviated her concerns about Gorrovardi, but initiating this check would show her superiors that she was vigilant, and worthy of her position. Not to mention that it would keep her busy for some time.

"Well. Who would have thought that this shift would turn out so great?" The servitor she had addressed replied with a blank stare. She sighed. "All right. Open a channel to Planetary Command."

* * *

The Astartes marched down the ramp in perfect synchronicity, the metal ringing with the force of their steps. They came to stand behind Gorrovardi's group. The Rogue Trader turned back to Rahebat. "They belong to the Red Vipers. When the Administratum petitioned the chapter's help, they agreed to lend their firepower to my mission."

"I see." The Master of Ceremony found it rather difficult to keep his composure in the face of such intimidating figures; and knowing what he had to do next, he couldn't help but feel a certain amount of dread.

"Very well. There are transports waiting for you and your companions. There is, however, one more formality we need to address first."

"You want to see my Warrant of Trade."

"If you please."

The Rogue Trader turned to his ship again and raised a hand. A few more people were descending the ramp, and to Rahebat's relief these _weren't_ armed. They must be Gorrovardi's staff: bureaucrats and scientists; _civilians_ either way, a dozen strong all told.

They parted and made way for an antigrav sled that appeared at the edge of the hold. It glided down, it's antigrav pad emitting a low hum. Controlling it was a servitor, the desiccated upper half of a human fused to the back of the sled. It carried what looked like a massive slab of dark-gray metal, polished and with clean, hard edges.

The sled came to a halt next to Gorrovardi, who pressed an invisible rune on the side of the slab; a barely audible click was heard, and a slit appeared, revealing the object to be a case of sorts. Gorrovardi raised the lid. The inside of the thick walls were padded with red velvet, and resting on this bolster was a smaller slab of the same metal as the chest, but inlaid with pictograms and tiny letters gleaming like gold. At it's bottom was a rosette, an intricate electromechanical seal. The surface seemed perfectly smooth, and no scratch or blemish could be seen.

Rahebat, secretly thankful that the trader actually had this document, was still a little a surprised by what he was seeing. "This it it? I must confess, I had expected something more… traditional. Like a piece of parchment, with a wax seal."

Gorrovardi shrugged. "As far I know, there are many different variants, but they tend to forgo the parchment these days. Only the very old ones are like that. Too fragile. Now this thing here, I'm told it can withstand even a ship's reactor blowing up. It alone is worth a small fortune."

"Fascinating." Rahebat found the bit about the reactor a bit to specific for his liking. He indicated to the Tech Priest, who, until now, had remained utterly uninvolved. "This is Nocto Tullari, Magos Logis of the Adeptus Mechanicus. He will now examine the Warrant. Magos, if you please."

The Magos stepped close to the sled. His multitude of appendages, each designed for a different purpose, came to life, clicking, whirring, hissing. One shone a red light on the plate, another tapped on certain points with varying frequencies, and a third connected to the seal on the bottom. Meanwhile, the Magos's human arms, or what was left of them, traced it's circumference. Accompanied were the examinations by unintelligible chattering and squeaking noises, intermingled with a scratchy, mechanical approximation of a human voice.

"Beginning analysis. length: fifty centimeters. Width: thirty-point-nine centimeters. Height: three-point-zero-nine centimeters. Mass: fifty-five kilograms. Accessing data matrix. Reading abstract. _"_ At this point, his voice changed, emitting what sounded like a recording in High Gothic:

" _In the name of His Divine Majesty the Immortal God-Emperor, we, the High Lords of Terra, hereby issue the Warrant of Trade to Gorgio Gorrovardi. He and all of his descendants are henceforth bound in duty and responsibility to uphold the holy mission set before them: to venture where no man has ventured before; to claim new worlds to strengthen the Imperium of Man; to enhance the resources bestowed upon them for the enrichment of all Mankind; and to carry the Emperor's Divine Light into the darkness. The Emperor protects."_

"The Emperor protects," several people murmured in response. With that the Magos's various arms and tubes retreated, and he turned around. "The Warrant is authentic. It was stamped in 0231921M41."

Gorrovardi looked at Rahebat, wearing a smug half-smile and raising an eyebrow in anticipation.

The Master of Ceremony nodded, visibly relaxing. "Thank you, Magos. Well. Everything seems to be in order. If you and your associates would now follow me? The Rajai are expecting us. Magos? You are excused."

"There is one more thing." Gorrovardi had raised a finger, stopping Rahebat dead in his tracks.

"The Marines won't be joining us. They don't care much for socializing and dinner parties, you see. They will use their time here to pick up some supplies and train and whatnot. Perhaps you could spare one or two of your people to show them around town?"

Rahebat had started sweating again. "Of course. We will be happy to provide them with a transport as well."

" _Fantastic_. I'm sure they'll appreciate that."

* * *

They entered the opulently furnished wagons, which set in motion. Rahebat told them a litany of facts about Mahamat; most of them they already knew. Gorrovardi alias Cortez made some conversation with him, keeping up his mixture of geniality and dark innuendos the whole time. Aeren was silent, splitting his attention between Rahebat's prattling and the landscape passing the large window next to him. The road snaked through seemingly endless fields, some sort of local crop standing high and swaying in a light breeze. Water, sprayed from extensive irrigation systems covered everything under a layer of artificial mist. In the distance behind the fields, Aeren could make out the hems of great woods, almost invisible through the haze.

The red light would take some time getting used to; but according to Rahebat, it would be gone soon, replaced by a darkness so long they would wish for the sun to return.

The boy felt relaxed, although he was now actually behind enemy lines, and much hinged on the continued success of their charade; the previous months had been excruciating, both physically and emotionally, and at this point he was willing to take moments of respite wherever and whenever he could find them.

He had come to this world to conquer it in the name of Chaos; although he still hoped it would turn out to be more of a liberation. What he had learned about Chaos hadn't been pleasant; the label of the R _uinous Powers_ was more than apt. But for all their horrors, at this point they at least felt more… honest to him. The Dark Gods were, for all intents and purposes, actual _gods_ , unlike the rotting corpse the Imperium worshiped, and it was no secret daemons would try and fuck you over. That was a refreshing change of pace from the constant whitewashing he had been exposed to in his old life. And maybe, just maybe, he could use his position to ensure life would actually be better for the people of Mahamat afterward.

He doubted not that he would be very closely monitored by his fellow conspirators, in case his loyalty to Errake's band wasn't as strong as he made it out to be. He didn't mind; the Imperium was dead to him, and no force in the world would make him go back.

* * *

The broad road began to climb, and the vegetation started to thin, until the old, solemn woods had been entirely replaced by rolling grasslands. Mountains loomed in the distance, and after a while they reached them. Set into a cleft was a white wall with a huge gate in it; as the wagons passed through, shadows engulfed them. Behind the wall lay a round courtyard with a fountain in the middle. Circling around, the wagons came to a halt.

When Aeren stepped out, he saw that on two sides, there were arched passageways piercing the walls, opening to vistas of alpine pastures; but before him, opposite of the gate, stood the palace proper. It seemed to grow out of the surrounding mountainside, terraces and balconies snaking invitingly all the way to the top. Everything was colored mostly in white, but where the sun shone over the ramparts, it painted everything crimson.

They were received by a veritable host of servants in white suits, who took care of their various belongings; Rahebat led them inside. They came into a high lobby built in tones of beige and orange; it was dominated by the giant statue of a warrior, wearing archaic armor and armed with bow and spear.

"Arjun," Rahebat explained. "Patron saint of Mahamat."

To either side of the hall, there were three elevators. The companions split into small groups and rode up.

When the doors opened, they found themselves in an approximately round hall, roofed by an enormous transparent dome. Everything was lavishly furnished. The floor was covered with white marble, rose under the red sky. Many luxurious sofas stood in this room, and cushioned chairs, arranged in seclusive groups. Between them stood bizarre sculptures of dark wood, as well as large pots with exotic plants. To Aeren's left, there was a huge fireplace, currently unlit and instead filled with blue light.

The servants led them to a wide door opposite the fireplace. It opened to a corridor which had transparent walls, and a transparent ceiling as well; it was resting on a bridge built from delicate beams, shining like silver. It was spanning a wide chasm, and deep below lay a shadowed ravine, thickly forested, and with a quaint stream winding through its bottom. But at the distant end of corridor rose more artificial walls, greater than any they had seen so far, and stretching wide to either side. Set into ogival alcoves left and right of the bridge were statues, tall as titans; their feet were easily ten meters below them, and their heads as high again above.

Aeren felt overwhelmed by the many and majestic impressions. Seldom before had he seen such splendorous architecture, the only thing coming close being the grand cathedral of hive Macharius, although very different in style. But most of all impressed him the mountains, as he had never seen any before; they were as big as hive arcologies, but irregular and organic, like ancient, dignified giants ignoring the utterly unimpressive pursuits of tiny men. Bathed in the red light, they created a dreamlike atmosphere, as though he had left the mortal world and stepped into a realm of legends and wonder.

On the other side of the corridor lay a grand hall. Like many parts of the palace, it was mostly white; but protruding from the high walls were half-pillars covered in leaf gold, and golden were the decorative patterns veining the smooth floor. Blue was another color to be found; such were the tapestries between the pillars, and the upholstery on the furniture. There were three large, round skylights set into the gently vaulted ceiling, filling the space below with the ubiquitous red sunlight.

* * *

On the floor, three large round tables had been placed, laid for dinner. Before the tables stood three noble figures, a man flanked by two women, placed in the center of a precise arrangement of guards and servants. The man wore a white uniform, heavily hung with medals and accented by a sash of the same blue as was so prominent in their surroundings; the woman to his left was swathed in a plain dress of the same color, and the woman to his right wore a plain white suit.

Rahebat stepped to the side of the arrivals and the waiting, spreading his arms as if to build a bridge. "May I present the Lord Governor, Raj Agipor Sulemnar, and his lady wife, Raj Myridna Sulemnar, as well as their firstborn daughter, legislator Shanti Sulemnar." He indicated each in turn.

"And may I present to you my lord and ladies the Rogue Trader Emile Gorrovardi and his son Aeren Gorrovardi, come to us with the blessing of the High Lords of Holy Terra."

Agipor gave him a nod. "Thank you, Lord Rahebat." Then he stepped forward, smiling. "And to you I say: welcome, my friends. What I can offer in hospitality and gifts shall be yours. Let my home be your home."

Gorrovardi took his hand, and Agipor, too, found himself hugged tightly.

"Thank you, my good Governor! I am full of joy to be invited into your lovely house, and hope I will be able to repay what I am given."

He then turned to Myridna. For a fearful moment, it appeared he would hug her as well. But to everyone's surprise, he instead bowed low and kissed her offered hand. "My lady, if all the jewels of your world are only half as beautiful as yourself, it is indeed home to wealth without peer."

She smiled at that, but Aeren thought it looked frosty. "Thank you my lord. You are too kind."

Agipor now turned his attention to Aeren, his face becoming serious. "You look like you must have some stories to tell, young man. You are still in your teens, yet you hold yourself like a warrior; and you have the matching scars, too."

Before Aeren could answer, Cortez stepped in. "I found him in a fighting pit on some backwater. Seeing how fierce a fighter he was I bought him and adopted him."

There were a few seconds of silence. Then Agipor smiled. "A gladiator, what do you know. I used to be quite the duelist myself in my younger years. Perhaps you'll show me some your skills some day."

Aeren didn't adjust his blank stare in the slightest. "I'd rather not, my lord. I'd hate to kill you."

There was another awkward silence. "Well," the Raj said then, "he certainly isn't lacking confidence."

The greetings continued. When it was Aeren's turn to greet Myridna, he found she was still wearing that smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He bowed, his face remaining an emotionless mask. "My lady."

She nodded, slowly and with dignity. "Young lord." Their eyes locked for a few seconds, each trying to read the others intentions and thoughts. _She doesn't trust us_ , Aeren thought. It once again fell to her husband to try and diffuse the tension. "Well, now that we're all acquainted, why don't we take our seats? I don't know about you, but I'm _starving_."

And so they did. Agipor spoke a toast "to the exciting days ahead", and then dinner was served. It consisted of seven courses, each but a small dish, each exotic and sophisticated. While Aeren enjoyed the food, it was a far cry from the rather plain stuff he'd eat normally; it was full of strange and unusual spices and aromas, and there were moments he thought he would be sick.

Conversation was polite and shallow. Myridna had dropped her icy facade for the moment and was instead playing the role of accommodating hostess. Aeren had been seated next to Shanti, and found her to be an interesting enough interlocutor; interesting enough for him to stay awake, at least. They talked about nothing of consequence, and the boy showed himself taciturn.

* * *

Some hours later, after the society had dissolved, Myridna and Agipor retreated to their bedroom and prepared for sleep. The room was only dimly lit by some soft indirect orange lamps, the harsh red of the sun thoroughly banned behind tightly closed shutters.

Agipor, already lying on the large bed, watched his wife as she was sitting in front of her mirror, taking off her small earrings.

"Now what do you think of our guests?"

She looked at his reflection. "I am not reassured, if that's what you mean. Gorrovardi is a brute, and I cannot fathom how the High Lords can consider someone like him a worthy representative of the Imperium. His ancestor must have been a very different man."

Agipor raised a finger, indicating a different perspective. "Or, this is _exactly_ the kind of people they look for: daring, and cunning, and perhaps a little brash. Certainly valuable qualities if one is to explore the far reaches."

"Very well. But what about that 'son' of his? Emperor preserve us, what an awful creature. I looked him in the eyes, and they were cold and calculating, like a snake that is about to kill a mouse. I think he is very, very dangerous, perhaps even more so than his 'father'."

Agipor nodded thoughtfully. "It is true, the boy is… unsettling. But that shouldn't be too much of a surprise, considering his background. Imagine what he must have gone through, and at such a young age, too; hell, you only need to look at his face to get an idea. If anything, I pity him."

She turned around, not believing what she was hearing. "Fine. Forget about these two. Let's talk about the real problem. The Astartes."

He nodded again, very slowly. "Yes, they are the crux, aren't they. Because their presence can mean two things: either they are true, in which case Gorrovardi and his ilk are indeed what they claim to be and all our concerns are unfounded."

He paused, loath to speak out what they were both thinking. "Or it means that we… _I_ opened our gates to the Arch Enemy."

The didn't speak for a while, the gravitas of this realization weighing heavily on them. At last, it was Myridna who broke the silence. "What do we do?"

Agipor tilted his head in a thoughtful expression. "We already watch them, and luckily they stick out like sore thumbs. The palace guard is also in a state of high alert."

He rose from the bed, donning a dressing gown. "I'll talk to General Yisadhi. He is to send five hundred of his best men, as well as an armored division. In the meantime, _we_ will do everything to make Gorrovardi feel safe, to distract him."

His wife nodded, decidedly. "We will poison their food. Not to actually harm them, just to dull their minds and take their edge off."

He reached out for her then, and she took his hand. "Everything will turn out all right, my love," he said with an encouraging smile.

She smiled back at him, still anxious; but it was hard to resist her husband's ever bright spirit. "I hope you're right."

They shared a brief but intense kiss and set to work.

* * *

 _AN: UGH, this chapter was such a pain in the ass to write, and at this point I have no idea whether I like it or not. I feel not much actually happens, but it is still necessary for the plot. I'm just glad to be done with it. (I do like the interactions between lieutenant Ghitapam and the servitor. OTP, anyone? Once I'm done with this it will only be slashfics about those two.)  
_

 _Reviews:_

 **Guest** _: Haha, sorry to disappoint you, but you'll have to wait a little longer for the action._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!  
_


	17. Tsunami

XVII: Tsunami

Aeren had never in his life experienced anything like his time in the Rajais' palace. From the time he got up from his huge, comfy bed, to the point he returned to it, there was a swarm of servants scurrying around him, making sure to fulfill his every wish; although he suspected they were tasked to watch him as much as to take care of him. He also noted that there were a lot of guards around, but that could have been due to the exalted station of their host.

His body didn't agree to this change in lifestyle though. He very quickly noticed that he was often tired and found it difficult to concentrate. But unlike the welcome exhaustion of physical activity, this fatigue clouded his mind. He sometimes had difficulties remembering certain words, and following a simple conversation demanded a lot of willpower. He told as much to Cortez, who confirmed it.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Must be this planet, the strange atmosphere and lack of a proper day and night cycle; and of course the unfamiliar food."

But while saying that, he gave Aeren a look that was at odds with his cheery tone, and that seemed to say: _But th_ _at_ _isn't all there is to it._ Aeren took the hint. "Yeah, makes sense." Cortez then gave him some tablets, and they alleviated his symptoms greatly.

"Best keep taking them as long we're here."

The companions were kept busy. The Rajais' assistants had devised an ample touristic schedule, and they visited a lot of historical places and other points of interest. Once they went hiking through the mountains, and another time hunting in the majestic and dark woods.

The boy learned that the approaching sunset would be celebrated with a big feast, for which the preparations were in full swing. The name of the feast was Duskale, because "the people drink a lot of ale at dusk," according to Rahebat, who was around them most of the time, always hurrying to and fro, eager to explain even smallest and tritest details. It was to be held in the last two shifts of light, the first two of dark and the time between them. As day and night couldn't exactly be divided up into six hour segments, the remaining time, close to five hours, was considered "free". That gave the hard working people of Mahamat an opportunity relax from their strenuous life, and also to produce the future generations of citizens.

As time passed and the feast came closer, he felt his hosts relax a little bit, their obvious initial reservations gradually replaced with an air of familiarity. Cortez and Agipor eventually started calling each other by their first names, but Myridna, always formal and disciplined, wouldn't have any of it. He suspected that while her distrust might have been eroding, she still didn't like Cortez's brash and sometimes crude behavior; her husband on the other hand seemed quite fond of his guest, despite or perhaps because of his peculiar nature.

Aeren saw and heard nothing of their Astartes allies, but since the topic didn't come up, they couldn't be doing anything alarming.

His own tension didn't abate of course. Errake had warned him to watch his mouth all the time, and under no circumstances consider himself out of earshot. That meant they had to keep up their masquerade even in private; that was enervating, and he was more than happy to leave most of the talking to Cortez. He basically only spoke when someone addressed him directly, and kept his answers short. When there was nothing to do, he spent as much time as he could in the palace's well equipped gym, waiting.

* * *

Eventually, Duskale was at hand. They were driven to the capital, and regency was passed from Agipor to his wife in a quaint little ceremony. Afterward the Rajai and their guests retreated for dinner.

The sun had passed completely beyond the horizon, but the sky was still aflame where it had vanished; the east however was now shrouded in darkness.

On a high terrace overlooking Syodha's central plaza a table had been set for them. The place below was teeming with tens of thousands of people; but only a low murmur reached them, as the terrace was isolated from the ruckus by a transparent shield. Everything could be seen, but very little heard. Occasionally fireworks would rise to sky, but the main fireworks event was set to begin a little bit later.

They took their seats, and the first course was served: a little dish made from a piece of fruit, reminiscent of a peach, some cream and spices. Like everything else Aeren had eaten recently, it was exotic, but not unpleasant. While carefully dissecting his 'peach', Aeren listened to the conversation. Cortez was making a big speech about how much he had enjoyed his stay on Mahamat and how grateful he was for everything the Rajai had done for their visitors. He had made his intention to leave after the festivities known a few shifts ago; Myridna's barely contained relief hadn't escaped Aeren.

Having finished the course, he stood up and walked over to the balustrade. For a moment he paused to reflect on the stark contrast between the plastic shield surrounding them and the seemingly ancient stonework of the terrace; it appeared grotesque to him, and reminded him of the disparities permeating every aspect of imperial life.

Leaning on the cracked stone of the banister, he looked down on the seething mass below him. He was too high up to make out individuals. He wondered if the people were at all aware about the things going on beyond their world, or if they even cared. _Soon, their world will have a new master. For most of them, not much will change. The biggest_ _difference_ _will be the slow, creeping replacement of the Imperial Creed._ _But they'll adapt to that, or most of them will. The ones who can't adapt will be culled, but the others will make the choices necessary to survive. Like I have. And their ignorant lives will continue._

He had stood there for a while, lost in thought, when he noticed he wasn't alone; Agipor had joined him.

"Something on your mind, Aeren?"

"I was just thinking about the people down there. They live their lives like their ancestors have before them, and like their descendants will after them. It will always be the same. I wonder if they are content, knowing that they will always work the fields, or the factories, never able to rise above their station. I wonder if they even care."

Agipor looked at him, astonished. "A warrior _and_ a philosopher. Your father chose well. However, you should be careful with whom you share such thoughts; some might consider them heresy."

"But you wouldn't."

"No. I leave the admonitions to the clerics." Agipor rubbed his hands. "You are wrong, though."

Aeren looked at him.

"Some people rise above their birth. The smart ones, the gifted. Occasionally we even make nobles out of the ones who render outstanding services to the people, to Mahamat. The church doesn't like it of course; they say the Emperor places everyone in their rightful position, and elevating people is an affront to His Holiness. But we keep them fat and distracted, so they don't meddle too much."

He grinned and winked at the boy conspirationally. Now it was Aeren's turn to feel astounded. He felt great respect for the Raj then: here was a man that seemed to genuinely care for his people, in a way even defied the almighty Ecclesiarchy; a worthy leader if ever there was one. He couldn't help but wish they had met under different circumstances.

He was about to say something, but in this moment a collective cheer rose up from below, distinguishable even through the shield, and rockets ascended and burst, painting the darkening sky in a myriad of colors. Aeren was involuntarily reminded of the New Years' celebration of his old home, hive Macharius, so distant and faded now; of the people he had known and lost. For a moment, he wished he could be far away, and cursed his fate that had placed him here, in this situation: having to betray this man and his people, who seemingly weren't off too bad in spite of being part of the damned Imperium.

 _I could tell him. Warn him. Prevent all that is going to happen._

In this instant, the desire to free himself from the burden of his betrayal became overwhelming, and he fully turned to Agipor, only half aware of what he was doing. There was urgency in his eyes. "Listen, my Lord,…"

There was a crackle in his com bead, stopping him dead; there was another one, and a third, each separated by a second. Aeren found himself pulled back to the present, and whatever he had been about to say was wiped from his mind.

"Yes, Aeren. What is it?"

"If you'd excuse me? I need to go the bathroom."

The raj nodded. "Of course."

Aeren turned his back to the banister and strode across the terrace towards the broad door. He cast a short look in Cortez's direction, who looked back at him for a split second; then he was through the door.

* * *

Agipor returned to the table. "Your son is a smart boy, Emile."

"I know, that's why I picked him. What were you talking about?"

"Ah, about the position of the common man in the grand scheme of things."

"Yes, that's a favorite topic of his. His great plan in life is to ease the plight of the little people."

"He wouldn't be the first highborn juvenile with such aspirations."

"M-hm. It's a load of bullshit, really."

Agipor sighed. "You know, you maybe nobility, but sometimes you talk like the meanest crook."

A deep rumbling sound could be heard, like distant thunder. Agipor turned around. Far off, beyond the borders of the capital, a thin pillar of light rose to a point high in the sky; near it's base, an orange glow shimmered over the horizon. While he was watching, a second pillar descended, next to the first; it was tipped with a miniature sun, white and harsh. When it touched the ground after a few seconds, the thunderous sound could be heard again.

"What," said the Raj, a sick feeling blooming in his innards.

* * *

 _Minutes earlier._

Colonel Shriver entered the command room of the 56th Eyllori. The room was empty except for two communication officers, Brevo and Ulfberd, who indicated lazy salutes. A cursory look of the many screens and displays revealed that at the various stations and outpost of the Imperial Guard, everything was quiet as well. As usual. "Evening, Gentlemen. Anything to report?"

Ulfberd shook his head. Brevo did the same. "No, nothing." His eyes fell on the clock hanging at one of the bare walls. "Except Zero-Delta-Charly are late to report in. Again."

"Emperor," Shriver cursed. "I've had it with Emersson's tardiness. No wonder we get to guard this backwater with this kind of discipline." He stood next to Brevo and put his hands on the console. "Call them. And put them on speaker."

"Calling them now. This is Regimental Command for Outpost Zero-Delta-Charly. Please come in."

Nothing.

"This is Regimental Command to Zero-Delta-Charly. Please respond, Zero-Delta-Charly."

There was no answer.

Shriver shook his head. "This is an outrage. Someone's gonna get flogged for this."

Brevo tried again; and this time, a crackle notified them that the connection had been established, and soft static filled the room via the speakers.

"Yeees?" came a deep, unfamiliar voice. Before Brevo could say anything, Shriver grabbed the microphone. "Finally! This is Colonel Shriver. What the hell going on over there? Who is this? Identify yourself!"

A few seconds passed before they heard the voice again. "I am Alpharius."

Shriver gave Brevo a questioning look, but the sergeant just shrugged, just as clueless as his superior, who was becoming extremely aggravated at this point.

"Listen, soldier. I want your full name and rank. And then I want to talk to lieutenant Emersson. And tell him, should he decide to keep me waiting, the both of you will find yourselves in front of a firing squad within three shifts."

"Uh, hold on a sec, I'll grab the lieutenant."

Shriver inhaled sharply. Tardiness was one thing, but this gross insubordination wouldn't stand. There would definitely be a firing squad.

There was an odd noise coming from the speakers, some sort of rummaging.

"Yeah, listen? I found the lieutenant, but he can't talk right now. Could you maybe call again later?"

Shriver was breathing heavily now with barely contained rage, and his face was an angry red.

"What. Is. The meaning of this?"

"It _means_ the lieutenant has a hole right now where his head used to be. I guess you could say he's already stood before the firing squad. Eh? Get it? Because I shot him."

Shriver's blood ran cold. He took two deep breaths, looking at Brevo. "Contact the general. Tell him _Searing Light_ has been compromised."

He turned to Ulfberd. "Check in with the other lasers. I wanna know their status."

"Don't bother," came the voice again, and Shriver turned red once more, this time because he had forgotten to cut the connection with the enemy.

"The guys at the other lasers probably don't fare any better than lieutenant Emersson here. At least he still has his body; that is plenty more than what will be left of you guys in about ten seconds. Don't worry though, your general will see the fireworks. I'm out."

Another crackle, and the room feel silent. The three men looked at each other, stunned by what they had just heard. Shriver was sweating. "Do what I s-"

A titanic explosion shook the room, pulverizing their eardrums. But before any of them had time to even register the pain, the heat reached them in their shelter, incinerating the three men and everything else in the room instantly.

* * *

 _Two hours earlier._

Rasulyah Ghitapam was feeling down. She had hoped to be down on the surface for Duskale, but her vacation had been axed. No official reason had been given, but she presumed the Officio Medicae had something to do with it. They had been reluctant to answer her request for a check of the _Bountiful_ _H_ _arvest_ from the start, and when they did pull through with it, it had turned out that part of the Harvest's crew had, in fact, suffered from a simple case of food poisoning.

While her superiors had, officially, commended her attention, the medicae personal ordered to do the sweep hadn't been anywhere near as enthusiastic. Someone must have pulled some strings to have her punished this way.

There was a ray of hope, however: Captain Lyranes had been true to his word and hadn't held a grudge; in fact, he was on his way to Lance Station this very moment, a large supply of treats and delicacies in his hold. It was a long standing tradition: after the merchant concluded his business on the surface, two of his landers would make a small detour on their way back to the ship, stopping at Lance and Shield Stations respectively for short layovers. There would be little bazaars, giving the station personnel a welcome chance to unwind for a few hours.

Ghitapam felt comforted a little by the fact she would get to relax a little after all, in spite of missing the festivities below. She followed the trajectories of the two landers on her screen. By some coincidence, they would reach the two stations almost simultaneously this time; usually, there were at least some hours between their arrivals.

When the lander approaching Lance was only a few hundred meters away, she was hailed, and Captain Lyranes appeared on the screen. He had regained some of his old vigor, but not his old, cozy weight. She thought he looked rather handsome this way.

"Here we are, lieutenant. Requesting permission to dock." His voice was solemn.

"Permission granted. Docking bay one, if you please. Everything is prepared for the bazaar. I'll be down in a minute."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm looking forward to meet you again in person."

"Me too. I hope you've brought many nice things for us, captain."

A strange expression appeared on the captain's face, one she couldn't quite identify.

"Yes. Be seeing you in a few, lieutenant." The screen went black.

Ghitapam stood up from her chair and straightened her uniform. _What was that_? It had been awfully taciturn for the captain. Maybe he was still mad at her after all. She was glad she had made the effort to have a bottle of vintage brandy delivered on the last supply run for this occasion. _When he sees that bottle he'll fall around my neck._ Grinning to herself, she stepped into the turbolift _._

* * *

The lift came to a stop, and the doors opened. It was quiet in the broad corridor, and quick glances to either sided showed her she was alone. She turned left; some two dozen meters to her right opened the large gate to docking bay one. She approached it, bottle in hand, and a happy swing to her step.

A body was hurled out of the opening, smattering into the opposite wall with vicious force; Ghitapam stopped dead in her tracks. Heavy steps reached her ears, and an armored giant appeared in the hallway: an Astartes, easily two an a half meters tall in his ridiculous armor, purple with golden trim. In his Hand rested a massive sword, crackling with energy. Without thought she retreated into the recess housing the lift, leaning numbly against the corner. Shock and terror were flooding her. "Throne," she breathed.

A bolter barked, and the wall behind her exploded; she was thrown on the floor, and her back was sprayed with drops of red-hot metal. The bottle, still in her hand, shattered beneath her, the shards cutting into her hand and thigh. Searing pain filled her; she screamed. She heard the steps again, approaching rapidly. Adrenaline rushing through her, she rolled onto her back, pulling her gun from the holster.

The giant stormed around the corner, and a smell of gore and ozone filled her nostrils. She managed to fire only once, her shot glancing off of the warrior's chest. He swung his sword. The blade touched her arm above the wrist, and went through flesh and bone effortlessly, almost caressing like a soft breeze; her hand was cleanly severed and swirled away, the stump instantly cauterized by the sword's energetic sheath. Hot, animalistic fear gripped her, and she tried to push away from her enemy; but the giant stomped down hard on her foot, crushing it into paste and fixing her on the spot. She screamed again, calling the Emperor's name.

The giant paused. "He can't hear you, lieutenant." The golden mask of his Helmet was sculpted into a regal, expressionless face, and his voice was soft and pleasant, strangely at odds with his violent nature.

Ghitapam didn't answer. The pain overwhelmed her and she passed out.

* * *

"Wake up, lieutenant." She woke, a brutal surge of adrenaline setting her heart apounding. The next sensation was the return of pain and she groaned. She realized she was back on the bridge. Bolter fire could be heard nearby, answered by autoguns and lasers. The giant was squatting next to her, pulling a syringe out of her arm. He had removed his helmet, and she found herself looking into the most handsome face she had ever seen, and not even the patterns of scars covering it could diminish it's beauty. A waterfall of black hair, freed from the helmet's constraint, cascaded over his armored chest. _Golden eyes_ , she thought, and swallowed.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked him.

"My name is Endymion. I have come to take your station."

"Why am I still alive?"

"I need the access codes to the station's mainframe, and if I'm not mistaken, you're part of the command staff."

"Fuck you!" she spat.

He laughed softly. "I knew you'd say that." He procured a long, delicate knife from the recesses of his armor. He turned it this way and that way, light glinting menacingly on the thin blade.

"Well then. Let's see what you're made of."

* * *

 _AN: Boy, another one that I couldn't really get into. As with the previous ones, when you have worked on a chapter and polished it for hours, you lose every perspective of quality. It's okay, I guess. Somehow I was much more inspired when I started this story, but perhaps that is to be expected. Or maybe I should return to writing my drafts with an actual pen; I noticed the result are usually different than when writing immediataly on a computer.  
_

 _Not much more to come in this particular story; I'm thinking one more chapter and perhaps a little epilog._

 _Reviews:_

 **Bibotot** _: Glad you enjoy it so far. Someone else said the same thing about Errake being to rational and chill, but I imagine there must be many different humors, even among CSMs.  
_

 **Guest** _: Thanks! Good to know I am still moving in an at least somewhat enjoyable direction._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading.  
_


	18. Feuertaufe

XVIII: Feuertaufe

 _The surface. Some minutes ago._

When Cortez heard the signal in his comm bead, he cursed inwardly. _That's some shitty timing right there._

Aeren ended his conversation with Agipor and walked past him.

"Where are you going?"

"Just the bathroom. I'll be back in a minute."

 _I hope you're not bailing on me, boy._

Cortez's eyes followed the boy as he walked through the door; he had looked like he was about to throw up. Cortez didn't really blame him; he didn't feel much better himself. Although he had seen a fair share of combat in his days, he wasn't a warrior at the bottom of his heart. He didn't care for the prospect of getting his head blown off; not when there were far more comfortable and _safe_ ways to make a living. Being Errake's master of slaves wasn't too bad, as in this position, the guns were usually exclusive to his own side. And when things did turn rough, he had his dependable goons to do the dirty work. But when his lord had revealed his role in the gambit to conquer Mahamat, he had of course had to agree; one didn't deny Astartes.

But in this moment, Cortez wished he were somewhere else. This situation could turn ugly very fast: there were eight of the Rajais' guards present; two more than his own group, and there was no cover on the terrace. _At least_ _we aren't completely naked._ Luckily, the regents themselves seemed to be unarmed. _Bet they have poisonous rings though_. He ground his teeth, trying to come up with with some sort of a plan.

Agipor returned to the table, putting his hands on the backrest of his chair. "Your son is a smart boy, Emile."

Cortez, trying to collect his thoughts, nodded. "I know, that's why I picked him. What were you talking about?"

"Ah, about the position of the common man in the grand scheme of things."

 _What the hell boy, this is not the time. Nor the place._

"Yes, that's a favorite topic of his. His great plan in life is to ease the plight of the little people."

"He wouldn't be the first highborn juvenile with such aspirations."

 _What the fuck do I do?_

"M-hm. It's a load of bullshit, really."

Agipor sighed. "You know, you maybe nobility, but sometimes you talk like the meanest crook."

 _You don't know half of it._

Thunder could be heard in the distance. At least, one who didn't know better could have mistaken it for thunder; but Cortez _did_ know better. _Warp, you're really not wasting any time, Errake._

Agipor turned around. Cortez heard his flat "what", and knew it was now or never.

 _All right,_ _here goes nothing_ _._

He rose, and in the same motion, drew his guns, pointing one at Myridna and the other at Agipor.

"All right, let's not make this uglier than it has to be. Tell your men to drop their weapons, and no one needs to die."

He heard sounds of alarm coming from the guards, and his 'bodyguards', seated on a second table now behind Cortez, readied themselves for combat as well. Immediately, the air was filled with shouting and expletives.

Agipor didn't answer, and Cortez was starting to sweat.

"TELL THEM!"

It was Myridna that answered, with a single word. "Agni."

Cortez looked to her. "What-"

He heard a dry popping sound coming coming from somewhere before him, instantly drowned out by a loud bang in front of his face, accompanied by a blinding flash of light. He felt himself lifted from his feet, and after floating in the air for what seemed a very long time, he smashed into the ground, stars flickering before his eyes.

* * *

Time seemed to slow for Aeren. He was standing in the terrace's anteroom, his heart pounding, when things started to go south before his eyes. He saw Cortez pulling his guns on the regents. He heard the guards and his companions screaming at each other. Then suddenly, Cortez's conversion field flared up, and he was thrown to the floor. In the same instant, the popping sounds of lasguns firing filled the air, immediately answered by screams of pain.

Crouching behind the door, Aeren looked to the right, where he saw the saw the last of their group being gunned down. But it wasn't only the guards shooting at them; one of the men had fallen _forward_ , his head a broken, bloody ruin. There were still shots impacting around them, _kinetic_ ones, coming from _outside_ the terrace's shield and leaving cracked holes in the plastic shell.

 _Snipers_ , Aeren thought. _Shit_. He hid, leaning against the wall. _I have no way of fighting through that. What to do?_ _T_ _he Astartes have no way of reaching them either, unless the ones still on the Deimos were to use drop pods._ _W_ _ait. the Deimos._

He tapped on the bead in his ear. "Deimos, this is Aeren, please come in." He had to wait a few seconds, then he heard Errake's voice. "Deimos here." Aeren was glad the old Astartes didn't waste precious time asking for his status. "We're in a fix here, there's snipers firing at us. Please strike at them." He had to wait for some seconds again.

"What's your position?"

"Hotel Munroe on the eastern side of the central plaza in the capital."

Again, moments passed.

"We see them. Orbital strike incoming. And I'm sending the ground team to your position."

"Awesome. Thank you. Aeren out."

It was now quiet outside; as suddenly as the fight had started, it had ended again. Taking a quick glance out of the door, he saw Agipor and Myridna talking to each other. Cortez lay prone; his hands hand been bound on his back, and two guards were standing over him. He heard steps coming toward the door and quickly dove under one of the sofas that had been placed in the room.

His heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he thought he'd surely be found. Three guards came in, guns ready. They didn't think to look under the sofas, and apparently they couldn't hear his heartbeat either. "You think he's still in the bathroom?" one of them said. "Don't know. Check the corridor."

In this moment, the night became day again.

* * *

The Rajai had placed snipers on the rooftops of _two_ buildings; one north, one south of the hotel. Both of them were hit; both of them were obliterated. The warheads used were small ones, fairly restrained for orbital weaponry. Still, the power of their combined impacts lit up the dark sky in blinding white. The shockwave destroyed windows in a one kilometer radius. It also destroyed the plastic dome surrounding the terrace and sent everyone still on their feet flying.

As the world was consumed in light and deafening noise, as burning debris was raining down on the plaza killing thousands, a thirteen year old boy on one of the upper floors of Hotel Munroe rose from his hiding place, a knife in his hand and murder on his mind.

* * *

Aeren first killed the three guards that had come looking for him. Only one was even conscious; the boy stabbed him through the spine, and the man died twitching. Aeren took his rifle and shot the other two with it; once through the chest, once through the head.

As he stepped outside, Aeren was shocked to see how the scenery had changed. The serene night had been turned into a pandemonium. To either side stood the burning carcasses of the destroyed skyscrapers, the heat radiating from these furnaces forcing sweat onto Aeren's skin even over several hundred meters distance. Strong, turbulent winds, in part due to the altitude, in part the result of the fires, tore at Aeren's clothes and hair.

The terrace itself was covered in the remains of the shield; thousands of dull shards, partly whitened by the strain.

Aeren didn't know how long he had stood there, transfixed by the sheer, overwhelming chaos, when a movement to his right caught his eye and broke his stupor, at least enough for him to finish his task. Mechanically, he made short work of the remaining guards, feeling all the way as if moving through jelly. Sounds came through to him only very dully, adding to the surreality of the whole experience.

After he was done with his killing, he went over to where Cortez was lying, cutting through his bonds and pulling the older man up. That one looked around, just as numb as Aeren. Then their eyes fell on the Rajai, who were slowly coming back to their senses. Cortez picked up his gun and motioned them to go ahead. Maybe they, too, were stunned by the mayhem around them, beaten by this inferno that had been visited on them by a merciless enemy; or maybe it were Aeren's empty stare and his bloody hands that compelled them. Either way, this time, they complied. Cortez said something to Aeren. The boy, still not having fully regained his hearing, could nevertheless infer his meaning: _lets get the fuck out of here._

* * *

 _Ugh. You guys. This. Fucking. Chapter. I must've rewritten it at least three times. Having Aeren and the gang try and overpower the Rajai at this particular moment was the most stupid thing I could've done. You know, in my original concept, the attack would've begun only_ after _they'd already left the planet. That would have been completely chill and tactically smart. But noooo, I had to do it the cliché way and have them strike during some important event, only because I wanted to shoehorn an action sequence in there. I've been racking my brain for the last days over how to make this thing work; in the end, I did manage to tie it together_ somehow _. But it was brutal._ _  
_

 _I guess there is a lesson here. Hopefully I will remember it. Either way, it's done and over with, and I can move on with my life and the story. I've edited the previous chapter to fit the events as described in this one.  
_

 _In other news, I actually did return to writing by hand. This is also one reason (albeit a minor one) this one took so long._

 _Perhaps you've already noticed, but I'm going to use my profile page to post status updates occasionally, so you guys know I'm still working. Let me know if you have a better idea for this.  
_

 _Reviews:_

 **Guest:** _Thanks! It's high praise saying this is your favorite. It's always a blast reading reviews that are a little more differentiated. Positive reviews are the greatest motivator to continue writing. Interesting that you think that my writing has stepped up, because I haven't noticed that; but as said before, when you're knee deep in your own work you become your own worst critic._

 **Someone who is i** : _Much appreciated. Reading these little thumb-ups are always a little jolt of positive energy._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading._


	19. Guilt

IXX: Guilt

It was quiet on their floor, and they met nobody while making their way through the corridors. They found an empty lounge and settled down, waiting for the arrival of the Astartes. The captives were placed on one of the opulent couches.

Myridna held herself upright and stared into the air, her face blank. Agipor was hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands folded; He looked dismayed.

Cortez went over to the amply supplied bar. Drinking directly from the bottles, he sampled several spirits before he found one that met with his approval. He filled four glasses and placed two of on the cocktail table in front of Agipor and Myridna; one he handed to Aeren, who took it without much enthusiasm, and the last he kept for himself. Then he sat down opposite the two. He collected his thoughts for a while, swiveling his drink and taking a few sips.

"Well," he said finally, "let's cut straight to the chase, shall we? As you may have guessed, we left you alive for a reason. Your continued survival however, will depend entirely on how you choose to behave yourself in the coming hours. Which brings us to the first issue. Judging by how ice cold you two were during the shootout, I'm guessing you're both equipped with conversion fields as well. I want you to get rid of them, now."

Agipor rose without looking at Cortez. He took off his jacket and lifted his shirt, revealing a belt like device wrapping around his abdomen. While he was removing it, Cortez looked to Myridna. "That goes for you too, my lady."

She stared at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. "It is integrated into the fabric of my dress."

"So? Get rid of the dress, then."

"You can't be serious," Agipor interjected.

"Do I look like I'm fucking joking? Perhaps I haven't made myself clear. If you want to keep your lives, you will do what I say, when I say it. Now, get rid of the fucking dress or I'll have the boy cut it down." He indicated some dinner tables standing nearby. "You can cover yourself with a tablecloth. And get rid of your jewelry while you're at it. You too, Agipor."

Myridna stood up and walked over to the table. She placed her rings and necklace on a chair, and then slid the straps of her dress from her shoulders. The purple silk fell to the floor, leaving her wearing only her shoes and silken panties. She wrapped the gray tablecloth around her shoulders and returned to her seat.

Cortez nodded. "Good. Now, our associates will be here soon. That gives us some time to talk. I imagine you have questions."

Myridna looked at him, her gaze cold and hard as ice.

"What exactly is it you hope to achieve here?"

"I thought that was obvious. You're being conquered."

"So you are with the… with the apostates."

"My lady, let's not mince words. We are here as agents of Chaos."

Myridna gasped. The forces of Chaos were, for those that knew about them, a threat of downright mythical qualities; a ghastly specter lurking beyond the Emperor's light, haunting their worst nightmares. Invoking the Ruinous Power meant nothing less than the loss of one's soul, and with that, eternal damnation. These prospects didn't fail to intimidate her, and they shook her to her very core.

As quickly as her facade had faltered, she composed herself.

"What do you want from us?"

"Me, personally? Nothing, really. Nor does my master. You and me and your little world are only small pieces in the designs of greater men. Well, perhaps not greater. More powerful, for sure."

"You must be aware you won't get away with this. There is a massive Imperial Guard presence here.

"And what do you think those orbital strikes were aimed at? No, my lady, the Guard is history. Your only defense will be whatever forces are here in the capital right now. And the Astartes will be more than enough to deal with those."

"You know the Imperium will send troops once they learn what happened."

Cortez shook his head, his face serious. "You're mistaken. The Imperium will soon have much, _much_ bigger problems than the loss of one backwater planet."

Myridna's eyes turned to slits for a moment, as she tried to interpret this new information; but she decided this would have to wait.

"I guess that only leaves the question of what you want from us; I mean my husband and myself. You mentioned a reason for keeping us alive earlier."

"T _hat_ is the important question." Cortez reclined, spreading his arms wide over the couch's backrest.

"You are right. We _do_ still have use for you. In fact, the two of you may still be able to walk away from this fairly unscathed."

"In the coming hours, you will of course be our meat shields, until we have solidified our position. Once that happens, you will be given an opportunity to save yourself, your family and even most of your wealth and power; hell, even those silky panties of yours. As I have said, that outcome will depend on how you decide to act."

Myridna kept a straight face. "Continue."

Cortez leaned forward, and a sly grin appeared on his face. "Help us."

He gave them a moment to let his appeal settle.

"I said we're here to conquer you, and _that_ you cannot prevent at this point; our victory is inevitable. It needn't be a military one though. My master is more than prepared to resort to political warfare."

"'Political warfare'?"

"Propaganda. Reeducation of the populace. Assassination of dissenters. You know, that sort of thing. For you that means you can continue to live your lives as before; basically the only thing that will change will be what you drink to on New Year's eve."

Myridna huffed. "Please don't take me for a fool. You know as well as I that there is more to it than that."

Cortez shrugged. "I admit, I oversimplified. There will of course be some restructuring done to the governing bodies, and there will likely be some civil unrest. But really, we have specialists for these kinds of things, and they have been doing this for a long time; or so I'm told."

"What should concern you right now is the fact that, should you play your cards right, you may very well end up on top again, or pretty close to the top anyway."

"It should go without saying that, in order to make this happen, we'll be needing your utmost cooperation. Should you, at any given moment, try any funny business, this opportunity will become void immediately. Both of you will die, and your children will become the lowest of slaves, and suffer all that is a slave's due. Your precious dynasty will end, and its name will only be a footnote in the annals of the Imperium."

Myridna frowned. "So we're allowed to choose between death and heresy."

Cortez shrugged again. "Contrary to what the Ecclesiarchy tells you, being a heretic really isn't so bad. But you can always decide you'd rather be dead martyrs instead."

Myridna and Agipor looked at each other for a moment. Then the regent exhaled heavily. "It's not much of a choice, is it?"

Cortez shrugged for a third time. "It's the only one you got."

* * *

Aeren followed this conversation with only half an ear. Although his hearing was returning by the minute, his ears were still hurting badly. But that was not why he was mentally absent. What had his mind enthralled was the scene they had left only minutes before: the picture of utter destruction he had beheld from the balcony.

 _I did that_ , he thought. _I mean, it was Errake that fired, but I made him do it._ _All it took w_ _ere_ _a few seconds_ _of_ _conversation and bam! Instant inferno. Is this war? Is this the power we wield? That_ I _wield?_ _I have never experienced anything like this. It was, no,_ is _awe-inspiring. These huge buildings, destroyed in an instant_

It was then, that a far darker realization hit him, gripping his guts like a daemon's claw and twisting them with sickness.

 _How many have died? How many innocents?_

For a moment, his mind was in anarchy; a shapeless, churning mass that seemed ready to crack his skull open and burst forth with seething fury.

Then, he found a new thought, a thread by which to pull himself out of the sea of guilt that was raging inside his head.

 _I had no idea it would turn out this bad. I thought they'd kill only the snipers._ _I had no idea of the consequences._

 _Errake. Errake_ _must have known_ _, and yet he did it, without so much as a second of hesitation. How could he do this? How could he not even warn me?_

But then he remembered one of the old Astartes' lessons.

 _You have a weakness in You,_ Errake had said _, and that weakness is compassion. It does not befit a warrior, and your enemies won't share it. If compassion stays your hand, someone will kill you, and sooner rather than later._

 _You must be able to kill without thinking. No matter who it is that stands before you, be it a man, a woman or a child; if they stand between you and whatever it is you set out to do, they are obstacles, nothing more. Don't consider them with mercy, or pity. Don't consider them at all. Let the only thing on your mind be your objective, and rip through everything in your way. Only then will you be a true warrior._

The boy nodded to himself. _That's why he didn't say anything. It's obvious, really, once you think about it._ _He d_ _idn't_ _care. They were only_ _'_ _obstacles_ _'_ _on the way to victory._ _No, not even that; only collateral, uni_ _m_ _portant._ _They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They didn't even factor into his calculations._

He only now understood the scope of what Errake had said. _'_ _K_ _ill without hesitation.' And for him, it doesn't matter if he kills one man or one million; the scale isn't important, only the outcome._

He exhaled heavily, and reclined on the sofa, wiping sweat and blood from his brow.

 _Will I ever become like th_ _at_ _?_ _More importantly, d_ _o I even_ want _to become like that?_

 _But back there,_ _I_ _already_ _took the first step, didn't I?_ _I was_ _confronted with a problem a_ _nd_ _found a solution,_ _quick and efficient_ _._ _I bet Errake is mighty proud of_ _me_ _right now._ _Or he were, if he were able to feel at all._

He felt the overwhelming need to talk to someone, to confide his thoughts and doubts. He looked over to Cortez, who was still talking to the Rajai. _Not the time. Or the place. Later. Later._

* * *

Some time later, they were picked up by the Astartes, who seemed to ignore the hostages completely. Aeren knew them, to a degree, as he had met them during the planning stage of this mission; it was hard though to tell them apart in their nondescript imperial armors, and with their voices distorted by their helmets' speakers.

They had encountered only light resistance; only the guards remaining in the hotel. Apparently, there was a small contingent of Imperial Guard in the outskirts of the city, but they were still in the process of being mobilized.

"Where do we go?" Aeren asked them.

"The palace," Cortez answered. "It has a good overview over the surrounding countryside. Also, it has the mountains in its back. And it has a VTOL pad, should we need to make a hasty retreat."

* * *

They found the transport the Astartes had brought in the hotels' underground car park. The exit opened to to a road leading away from the plaza, which was to their left. The air was thick with smoke, and only a diffuse orange glow hinted at the inferno still raging there. The sound was muffled as well, a loud murmur pierced by the cacophonic blare of ambulance sirens, as they rushed passed them; other than that, they saw only a few people on the broad roads, the masses having been dispersed by the sudden impact of war and chaos. Before long, they passed the city limits unhindered.

* * *

Captain Uthair Lyranes felt sick. He was walking through the corridors of Lance Station, and although he was in no immediate danger, he felt like a man headed for his own execution. His legs were weak, and on several occasions he had to steady himself against a wall. Wherever he went, there were signs of the recently concluded fighting. The Astartes had struck quickly, and with brutal efficiency. Scorch marks littered the hallways, and more than once he came past spots were blood and gore caked the walls in morbid, horrendous murals. He had seen the corpses heaped in the cargo hold; stacked carelessly on top of each other by the pale workers, who were driven to speed by their uncaring overseers. As far as he knew, they were still busy venting them into space. The Astartes hadn't spared many; their thirst for bloodshed wasn't easily quenched.

His mind was empty, filled by an incessant buzz. But underlying that was a deeply seated thought, a dreadful awareness: _I made this possible_.

Every mark, every stain, every empty casing lying around seemed to scream at him. _It's your fault!_

It felt like an eternity before he finally reached the sickbay. Only one bed was occupied, and a new wave of dread flooded him, when he checked the case sheet suspended on the footboard, and found that he was, in fact, looking at lieutenant Ghitapam. She was bandaged head to toe, and in many places the fabric showed large brown bloodstains; one of them covering a large part of her hidden face. It sickened him to see that not only was her right hand gone, but also there was no lump in the sheet where her right foot was supposed to be.

"Throne, lieutenant. What have they done to you?" he murmured, receiving no answer. He saw that she had a drip next to her, the tube disappearing between the bandages around her left arm. He suspected she was unconscious and full of painkillers, a circumstance for which he was secretly glad; he didn't think he would have been able to stand her accusing him, blaming him, adding to the guilt that was already weighing down on him so heavily.

He found a cold metal chair and sat himself in front of the bed, a wide space between them; he felt that he had no right to move any closer, as it would have meant to invade her personal space in this state of utmost vulnerability; at least that was what he told himself. But perhaps he was just afraid; afraid to be unable to keep his defenses up, to become vulnerable himself.

He rested his elbows on his knees, collecting his thoughts. "They found me on Anabheta. Said they needed passage to Mahamat. For themselves and their cargo. They seemed upright, and paid well, so I said yes. How could I have known?"

"We were three days out, already in the Warp, when they took over the ship. Turns out, their cargo was Astartes. Traitor Marines. They killed some of the crew; DaHaugn, Willis, Namara, Hederson. And Hederson, dammit, she'd just had her kid, you know?"

At this point the barrier he had erected threatened to fail, a sob rising from deep within his his chest and choking him. He took a deep breath, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Anyway, they said they wanted me do something for them. Smuggle them into Mahamat. They said if I wouldn't do it, they'd kill my family in front of me. So that was my choice: become a traitor, a heretic even, or see my family die."

He shook his head. "That is a choice no man should have to make." He took another deep breath.

"A… stronger man, or a more pious one might have chosen differently. In hindsight it certainly seems like the lesser evil: to sacrifice my family and myself. Perhaps then our souls might have been saved. But… I was weak. I chose life, and heresy. I brought them to your doorstep. I brought all this death. I brought this on you."

He was quiet for a while. "I can't help but to think of death; my own, that is. What will happen on that day, when I stand before the Golden Throne to receive judgment? What could I say? Nothing, the Emperor will know everything there is to know anyway. I pray he'll have mercy on Indira and my children at least."

"I don't know what I'll do until then. I can't go back to Anabheta. The Imperium will know what happened. I… guess I'll have to go far away, to some place where they don't me. Try to make a fresh start, you know?"

He slowly rose from his chair. "I don't think we'll meet again. I just wanted to say goodbye, I guess? And I wanted you to know what I did, and why I did it. I don't expect you to understand that."

He turned to leave, then stopped and faced her one more time.

"I know it doesn't mean anything, coming from me, but I hope you'll… you'll be alright." _I hope you'll be able to forgive me one day_ , is what he had actually wanted to say. But that that would have been preposterous.

"Goodbye, lieutenant. Emperor watch over you."

And with that he left, his head bowed by guilt and shame.

* * *

 _A/N: So here we are, rapidly spanning the final meters. Now only the epilogue is left, unless I find there is still enough to say for another chapter._

 _Reviews_ ** _:_**

 **theonelogician** _: Glad you like it! Modified geneseed would be one way to go about the Childrens' sexual ability. I had something in mind along a Slaaneshi ritual. I haven't actually put much thought into the origin of Aeren's geneseed - seems like it's not going to be EC though._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading, and all the encouragement!  
_


	20. Considerations

XX: Considerations

They rode through the night, following the curved roads that would take them back to the highlands. Aeren and the Rajai were sitting opposite of each other; Cortez had joined the Astartes in the front.

The regents were quiet, holding hands and sharing all the comfort the situation allowed for.

Aeren was staring out of the large window; the darkness outside made it impossible to see anything though, so the only thing he saw was his own tired face. A tempest of contradicting emotions was churning in his guts; on the one hand, he felt tremendous relief because the time of his masquerade was finally over; in addition to that, the mission promised to turn out a resounding success, and, as far as he knew, there had only been a handful of casualties on his side. On the other hand, the images of the burning buildings, and the smoke and dust filled streets were still haunting him; and at times he felt the guilt would crush him.

At some point, he noticed Agipor staring at him. He tried to ignore it for a moment, before he decided to put the Raj into his place.

"What?" he snapped.

The older man wasn't intimidated in the slightest. "I have been wondering," he said thoughtfully.

Aeren just glared at him.

"How much of what you told us is actually true, if anything at all."

The boy grimaced. "What's it matter? Don't you have other things to worry about?"

Agipor nodded sadly. "Yes, quite. You and your father made sure of that."

A broad sneer appeared on Aeren's face. "He isn't even my father! How do you like that?"

The Raj remained calm. "Who is he, then?"

Aeren shrugged. "Just a man who serves the same master as I do."

"Yes, that ominous master of yours. He was mentioned before. Who is he?"

The boy's eyes lit up a little. "A warlord. A renegade Astartes," he boasted. "He came up with the plan to infiltrate your fucking planet. He is a total badass and ice cold; better not fuck with him once he gets here, he'll see right through you."

"And does this 'badass' have a name?"

"Errake. Errake Stoneheart, and believe me, he lives up to that name."

"I see."

There was a moment of silence, after which the Raj got up and walked through the door separating the passenger cabin from the driver's compartment, leaving Aeren and Myridna glaring at each other; the boy with defiance, his wife with contempt.

* * *

When he opened the door, five heads turned towards him; and Cortez, in the driver's seat, looked at his reflection in the large windshield; it was dark in the cabin, and the bright room behind Agipor cast a yellow rectangle on it. The regent proceeded cautiously, wary of the Astartes. "There is something we need to talk about. I am not sure who to address on this matter though."

"Talk to me," Cortez answered. "If it concerns them, they'll know."

"It concerns them." He looked at each of their unsettling, lifeless helmets in turn.

"There are still some guards at the palace. They are are only armed with lasrifles, no heavy guns. They are no threat to you. I would ask you to spare their lives. Enough blood has been spilled."

One of the Astartes shook his head. Agipor seemed to remember this one had been addressed as Sabato before.

"Once we get there, these men will pose a security risk, no matter their armament. They will have to die."

"But," Agipor countered, "wouldn't it be enough to disarm them and lock them up?"

"Why bother? They would have to be guarded all the time, and we can't spare anyone for that."

Agipor licked his lips. This wasn't going well. "Many of them are children of Mahamat's great houses. They could be used as leverage in the coming… negotiations. They are more useful to you alive than dead."

"If they are so valuable, why do they serve as guards?"

"These positions are more ceremonial than anything else. Before… before you showed up, they weren't really in any danger."

"Which means none of them have actual combat experience, and if they _are_ put in a volatile situation they are likely to make stupid decisions."

Agipor's hope faltered. But then the giant warrior shook his head again. "I promise nothing. I'll leave the decision to the commander. He does the politics. These men better be worth what you said though, or he'll get very upset with you. Very well. Call them, and tell them to put their weapons on a pile. All their weapons. And have all of them assemble in a place where we we can see them. No bullshit."

Agipor felt relief. "Thank you, my lord." With that, he stepped over to the radio unit.

* * *

The night was still hot when they reached the palace. As ordered, there was pile of Lasrifles on one side of the courtyard. The guards were standing in neat rows in front of the great doors leading into the welcoming hall. The young men and women looked miffed at first. No doubt they had hoped for a glorious fight; but actually seeing the Astartes before them cured them of their ambitions. They were locked into a storage room in the cellar until their fate would be decided.

Most of the Astartes spread out to secure the area and become familiar with it, while Sabato guarded Myridna and Agipor, who retreated to get dressed properly again.

Cortez, his part in this story pretty much over, decided to continue getting hammered; this time, on the regents' own choice selection of spirits.

And so, Aeren was left to his own devices for a while. He left the quiet courtyard and strolled over the starlit meadows to the north.

He found a nice place, and, tired as he was, he lay down on the still warm ground. Above him, a myriad of stars twinkled, quiet and peaceful, and inconceivably far away; and for a moment, peace visited him. He had learned a little bit of the stars; their long lifespans dwarfing human and even Astartes existences to nothing. How little they must care for the follies of mortals; they would still be there when Aeren, and everything he had done and everything he had yet to do, were long dead and forgotten. He wished then he could just remain there, in this quiet moment, forever; forget about eternal war and all the horrors his future would hold. _How lucky_ _would I_ _be_ , he thought, _if I could just lie here_ _without knowing that the only thing awaiting_ _me_ _in life is bloodshed,_ _and that_ _I_ _will find death on some battlefield._ _But then again, this is what I have chosen…_

Shortly after, the exertions of the past hours finally caught up with him, and he fell asleep.

A sound in the bead in his ear brought him back to consciousness. It was Sabato's voice. "Aeren, where are you? Do you copy?"

"Uhh, yeah. I'm outside. What is it?"

"Get back here. The commander is on his way."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

* * *

Errake's thunderhawk touched down, barely visible in the sparse light provided by the platform's position lights. The ramp lowered, and out strode the old one, followed by four of his brothers. These renegades were wearing their own armors; painted in bright colors, trimmed with bronze or silver, and adorned with many carved skulls and spikes; fit to tell of their glorious nature, and inspire fear in their enemies.

Errake's armor was something else entirely. It was of a dirty black, streaked in places with dark gray camo patterns. There was no light on him, neither emitted nor reflected; even the eyes were just black pits in the dark ceramite of his horned helmet.

They received him in the platform's anteroom: the rajai in the center, a few select servants behind them. To either side stood the Astartes, the front of the two rows formed by Aeren and a slightly swaying Cortez.

Errake came to stop before the two regents, who looked a little bit shaken; two of Errake's companions had adorned themselves with grisly trophies: one had a very fresh human head attached to his baroque chestpiece, framed by a pair of hands; the other one was wearing a chain of equally fresh heads around his neck.

A lackey, pale, and trying his hardest to keep his composure, stepped between the rajai and the black clad giant. "May I present the lord and lady-"

"Silence." Although there wasn't much force in Errake's voice, it still utterly drowned the smaller man, who almost doubled over, so much power carried the stranger's voice. A grim specter he was, born from darkness and tearing through the thin veil of peace and order that had surrounded them, and that they now knew to be illusionary; a dreadful harbinger of a world governed by strange and brutal laws, trampling everything they had believed true into the dust.

"Let your masters speak for themselves." His voice, slow and rumbling, and amplified by his helmet, filled the room with ease. It commanded everyone's utmost attention.

The lackey, bent over as if he had been punched in the stomach, retreated slowly, careful to not turn his back to the assembly. It was Myridna who stepped forward next. The giant warrior turned his ghastly gaze towards the woman, slowly. She looked tiny compared to him, a pillar of white marble of in front of a black mountain.

"I am Myridna Sulemnar, regent and currently planetary governor of Mahamat. This is my husband, Agipor Sulemnar. As ruling authority of this world, we formally surrender to you, my lord." She inclined her head.

"I accept." He kept the dark pits of his eyes fixed on her. "I am Errake. From this moment on, you will be my representative on this world; and you should strive to keep me pleased. That means following my orders precisely and immediately, and inform me at once should any sort of trouble arise. I assume Cortez has explained to you what happens if you fail to meet my expectations."

"He… made it clear, yes."

"Good. Now, where can we sit? We have much to discuss."

"There is a conference room. But… there aren't any chairs in your size."

"We'll bring our own."

* * *

Slaves brought the chairs for the Astartes; massive steel frames without backrests, able even to carry a Space Marine in full armor. They sat down, and Errake placed his helmet on the table, shocking the ones that didn't know him once more; this time with his gnarled features.

"First things first," he began. "I assume you have some sort of Global Emergency Broadcast? Something with which to reach all citizens at once?"

Myridna nodded. "Yes, of course."

"You will prepare a statement acknowledging the recent attacks. You will tell them that they were an unprovoked and unlawful action, carried out by corrupt Imperial officials. Luckily, the Adeptus Astartes arrived to assist you."

In this moment, a red light appeared next to the large video screen occupying one of the chamber's empty walls, accompanied by a little jingle.

Errake looked questioningly at Myridna, who frowned.

"That would be the GEB, incidentally." Errake's eyes continued to bore into her, and she shook her head. "I didn't order or authorize this."

"Show me."

Using a remote, Agipor turned the display on, revealing none other than Unjul Rahebat, wearing his usual robes and fez.

"My fellow citizens of Mahamat," he said solemnly. "We are under attack."

"In the past hours, we have been the target of multiple coordinated bombardments from orbit aimed at both military and civilian targets. Many of you have witnessed the terror that was visited upon us; many of you have lost friends and family in these cowardly actions. Our prayers are with the dead and the bereaved; and we will spare no effort to bring those responsible to justice."

"In the wake of these attacks, that were executed by offworld elements, our beloved Rajai fell into the hands of these vile heretics. I therefore have no choice but to renounce their authority, for until such times as it takes to free them and reinstate the Emperor-given order. As I am speaking to you, the Imperial Guard is moving against the royal palace, were the heretics have fled with their hostages. Their crimes will not go unpunished; they will surely face the Emperor's wrath."

"In the meantime, dear friends, I ask you to be strong; we face this crisis together, and together we will overcome it. Keep united, and remain faithful. The Emperor protects."

The screen went black.

"Lord Rahebat, Master of Ceremony," Myridna explained. "One of the select few who can access the GEB. He knew we suspected your man Cortez to be a threat, and when the… recent events transpired, he acted; obviously without my approval."

"Obviously." Errake scratched his scarred cheek. "It doesn't matter; I half expected something like this to happen. He tries to swear them to resistance, while at the same time trying to prevent anarchy. A clumsy attempt, but we can use it. We'll send a message of our own. But first, tell me of this world."

* * *

He had Myridna and Agipor explain how the government of Mahamat worked, who the noble houses were, social and economic structures. They spent hours talking, and while some of the present Astartes eventually had enough and left, Errake absorbed the information with his usual stoic face, and without faltering even once in his attention. In the end, the Rajai were exhausted to the point of collapse. Aeren was secretly glad he had been able to catch some shuteye, because it allowed him to retain a reasonably awake and attentive appearance, although he was certain he'd remember only half the things that were said, if that.

When Errake was finally satisfied, he fell silent, looking contemplative.

After a while Myridna, deep shadows under her eyes, spoke again. "There is one thing I don't understand. Will you allow me to speak frankly?"

The old one nodded. "Always be frank; but never forget who you're talking to."

"With everything we have talked about, and with all the questions you have asked, I cannot help but think that you're interested in keeping order, and maintain a functioning government. I have never heard of Astartes as politicians. In fact, your… associates didn't seem all that interested in these matters."

Errake sat motionless, waiting for her to continue.

"What role do you intend to play in the government of our world? I'm wondering what happens if your men get bored. Don't you think that would be very… _counterproductive_?"

"You are right, on both accounts. I am interested in keeping your society and your production running smoothly. Your world is an asset, albeit a small one, and I intend to keep it functional for the time being. As for the second part: yes, we are warriors first and foremost. But you can rest assured, you won't have to deal with us for very long. We aren't staying."

She raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No. With the conclusion of our military operations, and the surrender of the remaining noble houses, our task here will be over. There is a war coming, and my brothers and I are going to partake in it. As soon as our replacements arrive, we'll leave."

"Your replacements? And who would that be?"

"A demagogue by the name of Tokunai the Lending Roach, and her cult, the Unbent Fellowship. They are on their way as we speak."

The eyebrow went up again. "' _Lending_ _Roach_ '?"

"You'll have to ask her."

The Raj massaged her temples. "If that is all, I would very much like to retire for some sleep."

Errake nodded. "Do that. You'll need to look your best for the cameras."

The Rajai got up and left together.

* * *

Errake turned to Aeren. "Get some sleep as well. You'll need your strength soon."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

The old man, who had been rising from his chair, sat back down. "Very well."

Aeren took a moment, not sure how begin.

"It's about what happened in the capital. The orbital strike I ordered. I have been reliving the scene over and over and over again, and it's terrible. I feel like I am corroding from the inside."

Errake's face remained unmoved. "Why, exactly?"

"Guilt. Guilt. FUCKING GUILT! Hundreds of people died because of ME! Hundreds of innocents!"

He buried his face in his hands, the emotions finally having torn down his composure and sweeping the remains away with large, furious tears.

Desperate in his longing for solace he was in this moment; but of course, there was no one around who would've offered any. Only Errake, who continued to look at him dispassionately.

And so, after a few seconds, the boy stemmed the tide and looked up. He was angry now, angry at himself because he had been so foolish as to confide in the old man; angry at the same time at Errake for the indifference that he really should have expected. "You have nothing to say to me, have you?"

"I wonder why you feel guilt over those people instead of the ones you killed at the hotel. Who _you_ killed, and saw die. The others? You were hardly involved, even less than myself. So why do you aim your guilt at them?"

"The men at the hotel were guards, combatants; soldiers. They knew their mission could claim their lives, and they had a fighting chance. But these others, they were uninvolved. They didn't even see their deaths coming. They had no time to say goodbye to their loved ones."

Aeren was welling up again.

"All that made them up, their memories, their hopes and dreams, everything wiped out in an instant." The thought made him even more miserable; but Errake shook his head.

"Those 'soldiers' at the hotel hardly deserve the label. Spoiled children of fat nobles, whose only combat experience were mock duels with dull blades, and who had never fired their guns except in salute. They were unworthy of you."

Aeren was taken by surprise. Had that been a compliment? From _Errake_?

"As for the others, you're giving them too much credit as well. Hopes and dreams? Most of them would never have amounted to anything. Most of them only care about eating, drinking, and fucking. They are _animals_ , Aeren. Of all the ones that died on that plaza, perhaps half a dozen were worth shedding a tear over; gifted individuals or ones with higher aspirations. But you grew up in a hive; you know that if there is one thing the Imperium will never run out of, it's people. And in some place, at some time, another genius will appear, with the same dreams, and the same great aspirations; by virtue of numbers, nothing is lost among mankind."

"So what you're saying is, it doesn't matter if people die, because they can be replaced? But what of their loved ones? Their _grief_?"

"What of it? For them, grief is a fundamental part of life. If they hadn't lost their 'loved ones' on that plaza, they might still have lost them in an accident, to illness, or simply to old age. They will overcome their grief, and be stronger for it. If there is one distinguishing trait that humans possess, it is their ability to adapt; and those that lack this ability will perish, and they deserve no remembrance."

Aeren sighed. "There really is no place for weakness in the world of the Astartes, is there?"

"There is no place for weakness in the world, period."

"It must be very comforting to feel nothing, ever."

That gave Errake pause. "You think I do not feel?"

"Do you? I mean, they call you _Stoneheart_ for crying out loud."

A few seconds passed before the Astartes answered. "I do feel. But I have learned a long time ago that emotions are seldom good council. Even on the best of days, they will cloud your judgment."

"But it is also true that I am rarely excited these days. When you have lived as long a life as I have, and seen what I have seen, there are few things left in the world able to evoke a sense of excitement, or even wonder."

"I have walked the halls of an Eldar Craftworld, and the catacombs of the Necrons; I stood on a world the sky of which was so thick with descending Tyranids they blotted out all daylight; another one that was engulfed by the roaring inferno of Exterminatus; firestorms higher than any tower built by men. I have _seen_ , and _felt_ , the warp in all its horror, and all it's magnificence; and of course I witnessed both the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy, events that are mere _myth_ for most people; and seeing Sanguinius break a giant daemon lord over his knee will set everyone's threshold for awe pretty damn high."

Aeren had listened, awestruck. Hearing Errake talk about all these events had shifted his perspective; suddenly, the events of the previous hours didn't seem all that important any more.

"So, I guess a couple hundred dead people is simply beneath your attention, isn't it."

"Yes."

"That's monstrous."

"Noted."

Aeren reclined, exhausted. "I will have to think about this. But I am not sure I'll be able to adapt this view. I'm not sure I want to, either."

"What makes you think I care about that? Stick to your grand ideas, as long as they may last."

"Yeah." Aeren rose, stretching his back. His entire body was aching. "And now? What happens next?"

"My brothers and I will pay tribute."

"Tribute? To Abaddon?"

"To our nature. Why do you think I spared that army in the capital? As much as I enjoy a plan coming together, sometimes you just have to go out there and bash some heads in."

"Some fight that will be; Imperial Guard against Astartes."

"They'll be enough for tiding us over until we join Abaddon in his war. And it's not like they have no chance at all; they outnumber us ten to one, _and_ they have tanks. _We_ left ours on the Deimos."

Aeren thought about that for a moment. "Do you want me there as well?"

"No. I have a different task for you. Another challenge..."

* * *

Errake stepped out of the lift and into the palace's entrance hall. All of his brothers were assembled and were talking to each other; when they noticed their commander, they fell silent. They watched him as he walked by, and he in turn let his eyes wander over them. They were all great warriors no doubt; great men, to varying degrees. Some were a little insane; some, a little more. A few were stark raving mad. Errake tried his best to keep his band as stable as possible, but every once in a while, an Astartes would cross a certain line; he'd become a little too crazy, a little too deranged, a little to touched by the warp. When that happened, Errake would encourage them to move on, to join one of the other dozens of small and large renegade war bands. A few he had killed. He didn't feel bad about that; he didn't have any more patience for a madman that he had for a rabid dog.

When he reached the large portal, he turned around; some of his brothers forewent helmets, and he saw eager and excited looks on their faces. It was about time they had a proper fight again.

"Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N: whew, this was a long time coming. I have been really busy in the outside world in the last weeks, and didn't find all that much time to write. Ah, but all's well that ends well.  
**

 **There is a lot going on in this chapter, I think; I hope I did the various aspects justice.**

 **Also, I changed the summary. As some people have pointed out, Errake isn't very "chaotic" - and that is absolutely true. He is a renegade though, and the summary should reflect this fine difference.**

 **Only thing left is the epilogue now, and this time for real.**

 **Anyway, it's late and I'm tired, so on to the reviews!**

PolarDawn **: Thanks, that is very much appreciated! It's always a huge joy to read positive reviews, and if they are a little more in depth, all the better! Yes, I plan on writing a sequel once I have finished the german translation, so stay tuned for that!**

Guest I **: Wow, thanks! It's reviews like this that have helped me through the periods of low motivation and/or inspiration! Hope I can continue to deliver!**

Guest II **: Glad that you like my story that much! Alas, nothing lasts forever. But fear not; as I said earlier, I am already gathering ideas for the sequel!**

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.  
**


	21. Epilog: Harbingers of Change

Epilog: Harbingers of Change

It was unusually quiet in the streets of Siyodha. The people were afraid, and huddled around their tables with friends and family, discussing what had happened and what would happen now. And the ones that were outside went about their business with low voices and furtive glances.

An exception was, of course, the central plaza. The fires had finally been put out, and now the Administratum was busy with the cleanup: clearing away the debris, and looking for survivors – and bodies. It is to their credit that the workers only paused for a moment, when the giant video screen on the side of the plaza, covered in a thick layer of soot, dust and ash, came to life, showing the stern face of Raj Sulemnar on the GEB.

"Citizens of Mahamat," she began.

"You have all heard and seen the bulletin issued by Unjul Rahebat, the former Master of Ceremony. Know that it was a falsehood, a construct of vile lies aiming to twist the truth in favor of Rahebat's own agenda."

"The heinous attacks were indeed carried out by offworld elements; elements, whom Lord Rahebat aided and with whom he collaborated to bring our great society to ruin."

"But the worst revelation was that these attackers were indeed not part of a faction outside the Imperium; neither xenos nor outlaws were responsible for these unlawful action. No, the perpetrators are part of the Imperium, and of its highest echelons."

"My fellow citizens, as I am speaking to you, the Imperium is tearing itself apart. It is under siege from within, by a large faction of traitors seeking to overthrow the government of our most holy Emperor; and it is these traitors who attacked us so cowardly. They have acted against the will of the Emperor, and in reaction to this, the Adeptus Astartes has arrived to aid us."

The view panned the right, and Sabato and a handful other Astartes came into view, looking grimly into the camera; then, it cut back.

"We must thank the Emperor for their timely arrival, as our own military has been severely crippled by the attacks."

At this point, a different picture appeared: a scorched landscape, strewn with the burned and twisted husks of Imperial Guard vehicles. The camera panned to the floor, revealing the charred remains of a human, almost completely swallowed by the black slag; but their facial structure and teeth were clearly recognizable.

"Only one contingent of soldiers remains, and it is currently marching against the palace. These soldiers have left their Emperor-given duty and have joined with Rahebat and his conspirators. They, too, are traitors and will meet with the Emperor's justice."

"In light of these developments, we have seen no other choice but to call for help from groups outside the traitor's influence, and they have answered our call and are on their way to lend their assistance."

"This is a temporary measure, and while the Emperor sets his unflinching eye on the cancer that threatens the Imperium, we as well must do our part."

"Therefore, I ask two things of you: denounce Rahebat, whose betrayal has hit us the most, as he was part of our inner circle and enjoyed our utter confidence."

"And second: have faith; in us, and above all, in the Emperor. This is our greatest crisis, but with faith and unity we will overcome it. The Emperor protects."

Tens of thousands of screens went to standby.

* * *

Back in the palace, the Rajai had followed the transmission as well.

Myridna frowned. She hated herself in this moment, as she had condemned both Rahebat and general Yisadhi. She was holding her husband's hand, and when the video was over, she turned towards him, sighing. "Is this the right thing to do?"

Agipor gave her hand a comforting squeeze, looking serious. "What is the alternative? See our family destroyed, our legacy? No, this was the only option."

"I hope you're right."

She remembered talking to Errake about the Video. _I'm not sure this will convince them_ , she had said.

 _It doesn't have to convince them_ , the warlord had answered. _It only needs to sow doubt; doubt about who is saying the truth, and whom to trust._ _Trying to figure_ _this out will keep them occupied,_ _and quiet,_ _for the moment._

Then she thought about Pranher, her eldest son, who was with general Yisadhi and would soon face the renegade Astartes in battle. She had talked with Errake about him, too, begging him to spare his life.

 _When I meet him, he'll be an enemy soldier, nothing more. His only chance will be to surrender._

She had recorded a message for her son then, and had asked Errake to to play it over the battlefield, urging Pranher to lay down his weapons. Errake had promised her that much, at least.

* * *

And so it came to be that when Errake and his band assaulted the advancing soldiers, the voice of a worrying mother mixed with gunfire, explosions and the screams of men. But the young man at whom the message was aimed could not be swayed; he was bound by loyalty to his commander and his comrades, and died with them.

* * *

Unjul Rahebat was sitting in a dark room in Siyodha's town hall, plagued by thoughts like black, heavy clouds. He had of course seen Myridna's answer to his message, and had to admit, that while she was the actual traitor, she also had more to back her claims up. He had given a speech to his guards and servants then, trying to convince them of his honest intentions; but he had seen the doubt on their faces. He was now trying to come up with a new message, but his mind was in commotion.

The sound of the door opening made him turn; he couldn't see the arrival clearly before the background of the brightly lit corridor.

"Yes, what is it? Pala?" he asked. _No_ , _Not tall enough_.

"Put your hands where I can see them. No funny business, I can see you perfectly."

"Wha-… Aeren?"

"Yes. Don't make this harder than it has to be. You're coming with me, one way or the other."

The former Master of Ceremony rose slowly. "Where are my guards? Where is Pala?"

"I could convince most of them to walk away. They didn't want to protect a traitor after all. As for Pala… I'm guessing he's the one that stood before your door? Don't trip over him."

Rahebat's blood ran cold, and a sick feeling spread through his innards.

"What do your associates want from me?"

"I have no idea. But, as I was told to bring you alive, I assume there is some use for you still."

There was a new voice, coming from behind Aeren. "We've found the children."

"Good. That clears our second task. Lord Rahebat, if you please?"

* * *

The Space Marines returned to the palace, blood on their armor and in a relaxed mood. None of them had fallen; the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, having not seen actual combat in years, had performed less than stellar.

Aeren had been back quite a bit earlier. He had put Rahebat into a locked room, and reunited the Rajai with their two youngest children, Anjika and Suthi. It was odd to see Myridna, whom he had come to know as stern and contemptuous, display motherly affection.

This high was of course cut short with the arrival of Errake, who told them in his usual, apathetic way that their oldest son was dead. Where their oldest daughter Shanti was, nobody could say.

* * *

Later, the Regents were summoned to the banquet hall. At the far end, a throne of black stone had been placed. Errake sat there, and to either side stood many of his men, as well as some of the other Astartes. Only the lamps behind the Assembly were lit, and they had been set to a dim red twilight; in the front only a few small braziers cast their flickering light. Through this, the place had been filled with an ominous atmosphere, fire dancing in the eyes of the people. Errake himself, clad in his black armor that seemed to swallow what little light touched it, could barely be seen at all, a massive and shadowy centerpiece.

Before them all, alone and crestfallen, knelt Rahebat. He wore only plain pants and a sleeveless undershirt. He had been gagged, and his hands were bound on his back. Some dried blood on his temple showed that he had been treated roughly, and his look was distant. Myridna didn't like any of it.

"Here is the dissenter," Errake began, addressing the arrivals. His voice boomed through the cavernous space, amplified by his voxcaster. "It is time for his punishment."

The raj walked around the kneeling man, careful not to let her unrest show, and positioned herself between him and the dark throne.

"It is unnecessary to punish him," she said. "He only did what he deemed right. He is a prisoner now, and no longer a threat to you."

"You are right, in a way," the terrible voice droned. "His _life_ is of no concern to me. His _death,_ however, will fulfill a purpose."

"What purpose?"

"It will send a message to the other noble houses; I want them to know it will be much more convenient for them to work with us, instead of against."

Myridna bowed her head, forcing herself into humility once more. "My lord, mercy will be a much more powerful message. I ask you to spare his life."

"Oh, but I am not going to kill him. You are."

She looked up; her face was blank. "What are you saying?"

"It's easy. You killing him will prove to me, and _the other houses_ , where your loyalties lie. Until now I haven't really challenged you; consider it a test of your determination."

The raj said nothing. Only her jaw was working angrily.

Errake flicked a knife in her direction; it came to rest at her feet.

Myridna looked at it, than back to Errake. Her eyes were wide with shock and outrage. "You cannot be serious."

"I am absolutely serious. You will bring me his head. The both of you."

"My lord, this man will be a valuable asset-"

Errake raised a hand, halting her. "Don't. Waste. My time. This is not up for debate. You and your husband will kill this man and cut off his head. Or perhaps you would like to rescind our arrangement?"

He gestured; on either side, many guns were readied.

"Make your choice. Kill him now, or die with him."

Myridna stood there for a moment, gnashing her teeth. Then, she lowered herself, slowly, and picked the knife up. It was a brutish thing, with a heavy, serrated blade. She looked at it with disgust. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a camera trained on her.

Slowly, she turned around. Only then did she see the blood pooling around Rahebats ankles; his sinews had been cut. She took a step, came to stand behind him. Her husband approached them as well. "Give me the knife, my love. I will do it."

She nodded thankfully and handed the blade over. In this moment, Rahebat woke from his stupor. Realizing what was happening, he began to scream through his gag, and tried to squirm away; but Myridna gripped him and held him in place.

Agipor raised the knife high above his head. "Forgive me, old friend," he muttered. Rahebat was still screaming and struggling. The knife came down.

* * *

The kill was fairly quick. Agipor had apparently struck a vital area, and Rahebat went limp after a few seconds of tensing and trembling. The beheading though was a long and messy process, and both Agipor and Myridna cried and retched all the way through, while the observers cheered and whooped. It took them almost ten minutes before they had finally severed muscles, sinews and spine. When they were done, they were both covered in blood head to toe. Together they picked up the head, removed the gag and closed Rahebat's eyes. Cradling it in front of her breast like a child, Myridna turned around and looked at Errake.

The dark figure nodded. "Bring it here." He gestured again. Someone standing next to the throne stepped forward, carrying a large silver platter.

Bereft of all strength, she put the head on the polished surface, gently stroking the black hair. "What a shameful display."

"It, too, serves a purpose. I have no more need of you for the moment; you may retreat."

And so the regents left, tightly clinging to each other, stripped of both pride and dignity.

* * *

Aeren had watched the grisly proceedings, strangely calm. Maybe it was because he had seen so much bloodshed recently, not least of all the instances he had committed himself. Maybe his capacity for horror was finally exhausted. But when he thought about it, this hadn't been too terrible really: Rahebat's death had been as quick and clean as the circumstances had allowed for, and everything after that had just been cutting dead meat. He smiled at the rajais' strong reaction; they clearly weren't used to this kind of thing. _Unlike m_ _yself_ , he thought. And that realization _did_ disturb him, albeit just a little.

* * *

After that, it didn't take long for the other high houses to come and pay their respects to Errake. They had all seen the video of the beheading, and the message that had accompanied it. What Errake demanded, while unpleasant, wasn't too unreasonable, considering he was now the de facto ruler of Mahamat. And, having seen the alternative, the nobles had decided to play along for the time being, and see what arrangements could be worked out. Not all of them, of course: one Lord Muriyah, the most pious of them all, had opted to kill himself and his entire family instead; but not before poisoning all of his servants.

And so it came to be that the heads of the noble houses assembled in the great hall a few shifts later. Rahebat's decomposing head had been placed on a pedestal to the side, and the smell of rotting flesh mingled with heavy incense to form a rather disturbing vapor; a grim reminder of the price of opposition.

They brought presents and in turn knelt before the black throne. Errake, sitting there in full armor like a statue, acknowledged them with few words and fewer gestures; and they, too, saw that he was an utter stranger, not only through his place of birth, but by the very nature of his being. And they came to realize their old ways would not survive the coming days unchanged and unchallenged.

* * *

Out in the galaxy, the wheels of fate keep spinning as well. Although the Imperials don't know it yet, the dawn of the thirteenth Black Crusade is approaching quickly; and soon, billions of mortals will be thrust into its maw, pieces in a game played by titans and gods. Among them, an odd pair: a young boy and his ancient master. Only time will tell if either have the strength and luck to make it through, or if they will be consumed.

~ Fin ~

* * *

 **A/N: Well. So much for this story. I took forever to finish this, but the last weeks have been utterly exhausting for me. But I knew I what I wanted to do with this epilog, and I did it. This is once again a chapter I'm not sure I like. In retrospect, I'm also not sure that it was a good choice to move the focus away from Aeren a little, and towards the scheme to conquer Mahamat. Ah well, it's done. Can't say that I feel much satisfaction right now, or anything really, but perhaps that will come later.**

 **So what's next? As I said in previous notes, it was my plan to do a german translation, and a sequel after that. That is _still_ my plan, however I have to take care of some other stuff first and I'm not sure how long that will take. **

**As this is the end of the story, I will update this chapter to answer to any reviews you fine people decide to do.**

 **Let me thank all of you who stayed with me until now, and of course especially my reviewers; you guys gave me the motivation to finish this.**

 **Speaking of reviews...**

PolarDawn **: Glad you still enjoy my yarn : ) When the sequel happens, you guys will learn a lot more about Errake's backstory.**

Akularz-Shati **:** **Thanks for the kind words : ) Concerning Aeren's age,** drSpliff **brought this up as well, way back. I can see where you're coming from, but A) This is the Imperium, and I'm sure there are plenty of child soldiers around. B) Aeren has to be this young in order to allow for the Astartes transformation.  
As for the structure, I hope the later chapters are better in this regard ^^; Yup, you are right regarding the Primarchs beginning with a capital letter, I'll make sure to watch out for it in the future. I'm not going to combine the first chapters though, as they are, in a way, a testament to my development as a writer, and I want to be able to look back and see this stuff in the raw, so to speak. **

Notthisguy **: Th** **anks for the review! And _I_ can't wait to write more ;)!**

John Spangler **:** **Much appreciated :** **) I try my best. The sequel will take some time, as I am currently still busy with the translation, but I'm pretty sure it's coming.**

el mano **:** **Thanks for the rev** **iew! The Translation is coming along nicely, and I am eager to write some new stuff! Won't be long now...**

Just a Guy **:** **Thanks man, much appreciated :** **) I also don't know what I could do to make the story more accessible... sorry.**

Meatzman2: Glad you liked it :)

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you all soon!  
**


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